The Goblin Wars
by Kirayoshi
Summary: Followup to The Jackpot. Peter and MJ are making plans for a new life. But someone else is making plans for SpiderMan's death. Finally, Chapter 5: There's a new Goblin in town.
1. First Stirrings

Disclaimers; Marvel owns them, and now that they're out of the red they can afford lawyers. I own a CD of the old Spider-Man theme performed by the Ramones. And man does it rock! Hey, it's The Ramones, of course it rocks!  
  
Spoilers; Spider-Man 2, which also rocks. And my earlier Spider-Man story, The Jackpot. And quite a few people informed me that they thought it rocked as well, so that keeps the theme going.  
  
Rating; PG-13. Some comic-book violence and romantic mushy moments(some of the latter will be off-camera).  
  
My feedback sense is tingling!   
  
Summary: Peter and Mary Jane are planning for their new life together. But someone else has plans of his own, for Spider-Man's death.

  
  
Spider-Man:  
The Goblin Wars  
by Kirayoshi  
  


Chapter One   
First Stirrings  
  
_"Do you realize   
That you have the most beautiful face?   
Do you realize   
We're floating through space?   
Do you realize That happiness makes you cry?   
Do you realize   
That everyone you know someday is going to die?  
  
And instead of saying your good-byes,   
You realize that life goes past   
It's hard to make the good things last,   
Realize the sun's not going down,   
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning 'round."  
  
        --The Flaming Lips  
        "Do You Realize"  
  


========

  
You ever watch old episodes of the Ed Sullivan Show on cable? I used to enjoy watching the classic episodes with Aunt May and Uncle Ben when I was a kid. And sometimes I still enjoy ol' Ed's 'Rilly Big Shew' when MJ and I have dinner with Aunt May. Every so often, in between performances by such big names as the Beatles, George Carlin and Elvis, he'd bring out some plate-spinning act. Some guy would attempt to balance five spinning plates on ten-foot poles, using a cane to balance each plate, constantly rushing back to keep his first plates spinning before setting up the last plates, usually to the tune of The Sabre Dance.  
  
For the last three years, I felt like that plate spinner. My plates were college, family, work, friends, and of course being Spider-Man. The last plate I tried to let fall, before I realized that I could never let go of that part of my life. For better or for worse, I will always be Spider- Man.  
  
But MJ helped set me straight on a few things. She let me know that I was still Peter Parker, and I couldn't deny that part of me either. She showed me the truth in her pleading gaze and sweet smile as she stood in my doorway that one day, still wearing her wedding dress but not any rings, knowing and letting me know that, just as I was willing to sacrifice happiness for her safety, she was willing to sacrifice safety for our happiness.  
  
Now I know why those plate-spinners always have beautiful assistants.  
  
Not that MJ was just a sequined ornament. She's so much more than that. She's everything. Friend, lover (oh God yes--), confidante, sounding board, and on occasion my cover story. Thanks to her I could actually find the energy to be Peter as well as Spider-Man. I started to realize now that, as often as I may have saved her, she saved me that much more. Every night I thank God for her, for her love, for the strength she has provided me.  
  
I had no idea how soon I was going to need that strength. Or how badly...  
  
_

========

  
  
"Doctor Connors?" Peter called out as he entered the otherwise empty campus lab. "Are you here?"  
  
"Right here, Parker," Curt Connors answered from the opposite side of the lab, his head hunched over his microscope intently, his one hand manipulating the focus dial. "That is, assuming that you are Peter Parker. You know him, don't you? Brown hair, glassy blue eyes, intelligent lad but time management is hardly his strong suit."  
  
"Say hello to Peter Parker 2.0," Peter answered as he dropped his backpack and joined Dr. Connors at the microscope. "You said you wanted me here at 10 am, to go over my proposed syllabus for the Genetics 201 class I'm going to be handling next month, so here I am."  
  
Curt glanced up from his scope and checked his watch. "And five minutes early, no less. And for the third time in three days. Mr. Parker," he teased him sternly but not unkindly, "you seem to have set a precedent."  
  
"Like I said," Peter nodded. "New me."  
  
Connors harrumphed slightly and returned his attention to the scope. "I'll check your syllabus at my leisure, Parker. I trust that your course of study will be sufficiently challenging for the students. This is for an advanced class, not the basic pre-requisite course."  
  
"I'm aware of that," Peter promised. "Besides, most students who just need a science credit will probably sign up for Geology 101."  
  
"Rocks for Jocks?" Connors chuckled slightly. "Heard of it."  
  
Peter observed as his mentor monitored the slide beneath his microscope with rapt attention. "May I ask how the march of progress is going, Doctor?"  
  
"Take a look at this," Connors said suddenly, beckoning Peter to look into his microscope. Peter peered into the lens, examining the slide that had absorbed much of the doctor's attention. "What do you see there?"  
  
Peter pursed his lips in thought as he scanned the specimen. "Looks like a cell undergoing mitosis, splitting into two," Peter opined. "Except that I'm not sure what kind of cell this is. It's not an egg cell, that's for certain."  
  
"Very good, Peter," Connors answered. "The cell in question is a human epidermal cell, treated with lizard DNA. The prairie racerunner of Missouri, to be exact."  
  
"Starting a miniature Jurassic Park?" Peter quipped.  
  
Connors snorted a single derisive laugh. "As you are no doubt aware, Peter," he continued, shifting effortlessly into lecture mode, "many species of lizards possess the ability to detatch their tails. Grab a lizard by the tail and the lizard will simply shed its tail to escape, and later re-grow the missing tail. What you are looking at, Peter, is the first stage of my pet project. I believe that I have found a breakthrough in my bodily regeneration process."  
  
Peter nodded slightly. "I see. You think that by isolating the genetic trait that allows a lizard to re-grow its tail, you can somehow use that gene to re-grow severed limbs. Uh, sorry," he added hastily, wincing at the sight of his one-armed professor.  
  
Curt Connors smiled ruefully at his protege. "No need to apologize, Peter. This formula has been in the back of my mind ever since losing my arm in an Iraqi mine field during Desert Storm. And nothing would make me happier than being able to play catch with my son with both hands. But the applications of my regeneration process, should it prove successful, would be more far-reaching than that. Think of it, Peter, people who need transplants would no longer need to wait for a compatible donor, when they could simply re-grow vital organs. No more transplant operations would run the risk of organ rejection. Heart, liver, cornea, all could be performed without risk!"  
  
"Somebody give me an amen!" Peter chimed merrily, eliciting a pained wince from Connors. "Sorry, Doc," Peter said contritely, "I just never saw you get this worked up about a subject. Except for my chronic lateness, of course."  
  
"No, Peter," Connors waved his hand to silence his pupil. "You're quite right. I seldom discuss this project with anyone else, largely because before I stumbled onto the idea of using reptile DNA, I hadn't had anything resembling success. This is the first viable breakthrough I've had with the regeneration serum, the first evidence that the money Oscorp had fronted That's why it's vital that we impress Harry Osborn at the symposium next week."  
  
Peter sat silently for a moment, considering Connor's words. "Uh, by 'we'," he asked hesitantly, "are you including myself in that?"  
  
"No," Connors smirked in mock-irritation, "I'm talking to the invisible man sitting next to you. Of course I want you there with me. I need to convince the board of directors at Oscorp to continue funding my experiments. And I was lead to believe that you and Harry Osborn were close."  
  
Peter sighed dejectedly. "Yeah, 'were' being the operative word," Peter answered. "Ever since he inherited Oscorp from his father, he and I, well, we drifted apart. He had his business, I had college, we just didn't see each other." _Plus there's the little matter of him blaming me for his daddy's death,_ he added privately. _Not to mention that I'm currently engaged to marry his ex-girlfriend..._ "Look, Doc, I can talk to him," Peter concluded. "I'm just saying that it might not do much good." Peter recognized the somewhat dissappointed look on Connors' face, so he added quickly; "On the plus side, I recently chatted with Robbie Robertson at the Daily Bugle, and he had asked if I could do a photo-story about the symposium. Whattya say, maybe some positive press on your activities?"  
  
Doctor Connors pursed his lips in thought for a moment. "That does have merit, Peter. If you can set things up with Mr. Robertson, I'll have your all-day pass to the symposium ready tomorrow morning."  
  
"Thanks, Doc," Peter answered. "I'll get the press pass from him on my way home."  
  
"Very well," Connors continued as he shut off the light source under his microscope, "let's consider the syllabus you've been no doubt slaving over all night..." He retrieved the folder from Peter's hand and the teacher and student began to outline the upcoming fall quarter class.  
  


========

  
  
The insessant chirping of her telephone was a welcome relief to Mary Jane Watson, as she finished the last of a hundred sit-ups. Her exercize regimin was winding down and she felt the need for any excuse to cut it short. Grabbing a small terry-cloth towel to dab at her face, she picked up the phone. "Hello," she announced in a tired voice.  
  
"Midge!" a jovial, faintly accented voice announced, "how in the hell are you?"  
  
Mary Jane relaxed slightly. She only knew one person who called her 'Midge'. "Hey, Sergey," she greeted her former make-up artist. "How are you doing?"  
  
"Oh, can't complain too loudly," Sergey answered. "You hear that 'Earnest' is closing?"  
  
"Oh?" MJ's eyes opened in surprise. "Weren't ticket sales still steady?"  
  
"Steadily declining, you mean, girlfriend," Sergey smiled. "After you were given the Golden Toe, the audience shrank steadily. Apparently you were the only real draw the play had. And the twit they booked to replace you-- let's just say it doesn't help an Oscar Wilde production to be constantly giggling while delivering your lines. The crowds stayed away in droves."  
  
"Sorry to hear that, Sergey," MJ answered.  
  
"I'm not, sweetheart," Sergey chuckled. "After the rotten treatment they gave you, the producers deserved it!"  
  
MJ navigated her way to the kitchen, balancing the handset between her chin and her left shoulder. "Tell me about it," she complained softly. "Haven't had a decent stage offer since then."  
  
"Well, honey," Sergey answered, "When I tell you my good news, you'll be wreathed in smiles."  
  
"Really?" MJ smirked. "And what good news are you talking about?"  
  
"Just tell me two things, dearie. One, can you tear yourself away from that sandwich shop in a week from Thursday, for an audition?"  
  
"I have that Thursday off, actually," MJ answered hopefully. "What kind of role are we talking?"  
  
"Well," Sergey hesitated slightly. "That leads to my second thing."  
  
"Which is..." MJ intoned sternly.  
  
"Can you fake an orgasm?"  
  
MJ stood slackjawed for five whole seconds, before she exclaimed, "I beg your pardon!"  
  
"I'm sure I enunciated, darling," Sergey defended himself.  
  
"What kind of role is this?" she shouted into the handset. "Some sex- fantasy-on-stage thing? 'Cause if it is, let me tell you mister--"  
  
"Nothing that outrageous, I can assure you, Midge," Sergey hurriedly interrupted. "Let me explain; shortly after we got our pink slips from 'Earnest', a local producer, Kathy Ortez, you heard of her?"  
  
"Yeah, one of the better off-Broadway producers," MJ admitted. "She's got a good rep. Puts on a good show and has an eye for finding future stars."  
  
"Well, her next production is an import from London's West End," Sergey continued, "one that they got from Hollywood actually. It's a stage adaptation of the popular romantic comedy, 'When Harry Met Sally'."  
  
"Oh," MJ nodded, before realization set in. "Ooh, I get it. The deli scene..."  
  
"'I'll have what she's having'," Sergey quoted. "So Kathy hired me as head make-up artist, and asked if I knew anyone who could play Sally, and you, my little cherub, are the first person I thought of. So I gave Kathy your number, and you should expect to hear from her tomorrow or the day after, with the where and when for the audition."  
  
"Wow!" MJ beamed. "You sure this is on the level? Y'know I've had zero luck with auditions since breaking up with John Jameson."  
  
"Would I kid you, Midge?" Sergey asked. "She told me that she enjoyed you immensely on 'Earnest', and feels that Sally Albright would be right up your alley. Trust me on this, you're gonna knock her socks off!"  
  
"Thanks for the tip, Sergey," MJ answered.  
  
"De nada," Sergey smiled.  
  
"Well, I gotta hang up now," MJ answered. "Peter's coming over, and I'm putting together a fritata for dinner."  
  
"Ah, the photographer," Sergey smiled. "About time he woke up and smelled the gorgeous redhead! Well, you two have fun, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."  
  
"Thanks, Sergey. That gives me a lot of leeway," MJ teased. "Bye."  
  
"See you in the funny papers, Midge."  
  
She heard the click of a cellular phone hanging up, replace her handset on the receiver and returned her attention to the kitchen. As she located the ingredients for her planned dinner in the refrigerator, she found herself smiling again, a common occurrence as she considered her life now, and how different things could have been.  
  
She had come so close to losing him. She had lost him. He was so determined to protect her, to keep her safe at all costs, that he was ready to cast her aside. All because of a change in his destiny caused by a spider-bite. It was the supreme irony of her life, she had realized at one point, that the reason she had begun to notice Peter and ultimately fall in love with him was the same reason that he had tried to wall himself away from her. Spider-Man.  
  
Not for the first time, she wondered how she could have been so blind? The clues were there; the sudden coordination he exhibited weeks before they graduated from high school, the altercation with Flash Thompson, Spider- Man's first public appearances, right about the time that Peter started attending college, the fact that Peter was the only shooter around to get any decent shots of Spider-Man for the Bugle...  
  
It was a week before Norman Osborn's funeral when she realized that he was The One. She had finally returned to her apartment after that terrible ordeal on the Queensboro bridge, and all she had wanted was to soak in a hot bath and sleep for a week. First she checked her answering machine. Amid the frantic calls from her mother and a couple of discount cruise offers, she heard Peter's voice, clear and caring, checking to see if she was okay and warning her to avoid any dark alleys. None of her former beaus, neither Flash nor Harry, had been that concerned about her before. She had wondered briefly why the connection had severed so quickly; it sounded like he had more to say before being cut off. But it didn't matter to her. She played that message five times, simply to hear his voice again, to memorize its timbres and cadences. That was the moment she knew she was in love with Peter Parker.  
  
But the next time she heard his voice, he had told her that he didn't share her feelings for him. His kiss for her at Osborn's funeral was a kiss of goodbye. All he would give her was his friendship. And after the initial heartbreak, even friendship seemed to be enough for her.  
  
Except for the consistantly empty seat at her stage performances. The unanswered phone calls. The broken lunch dates. The sense that he wasn't with her even during those rare moments when they were together.  
  
And there was John. Sweet, caring, attentive, affectionate, easy on the eyes, successful...everything that a girl could want. She would have been a fool to turn down his marriage proposal, right?  
  
And even if she wasn't In Love with him, she did love him, right?  
  
It was during that final confrontation between Peter and Doctor Octopus where things started to crystalize. She saw him, her Peter, facing off against a madman who could have easily crushed him in his tentacles, desperately trying to reach the man beneath the monster. As he stood unmasked before her, her heart soared as she received and accepted the truth. It wasn't so much a revelation as it was a realization, that what she had known in her heart to be true all along was correct. That her hero, the city's hero, was the man whom she had loved and would love forever.  
  
As she gazed lovingly into Peter's unmasked eyes, she breathed, "I think I knew all this time who you really were."  
  
And even then, with his face unmasked, Peter still hid his heart. "Then you know why we can't be together," he said sorrowfully. "Spider-Man will always have enemies. I can't let you take that risk. I will always be Spider-Man. You and I can never be... " His words, spoken with a funeral bell's finality, again tore at her soul, threatening to engulf her in sorrow. She didn't even notice as John's strong arms held her fiercely, not wanting to let her go. She only kept her eyes on the shadowed figure of her hero as Spider-Man disappeared into the shadows of the New York night.  
  
But he loved her. He said as much to her that night, before his final battle with Octopus. As she sat in her wedding dress on the day she was supposed to become Mrs. John Jameson, the final tumbler fell into place. She finally realized how deeply he loved her. Peter was prepared to give up everything to keep her safe, to protect her from his other life. Even if that meant they could never be together...  
  
_Like Hell we can't be together!_ Those words echoed through her head, and with the thought came action.  
  
As she rushed across Central Park, away from the chapel, away from a lie of a wedding, she felt her heart soar. For the first time in her life she knew what she wanted, what she needed to complete her life, and she was going to grab it with both hands. She would no longer be half-alive, half herself. And she wouldn't let Peter be half-alive, simply because he was afraid to risk her safety.  
  
Love was always a risk. The greatest risk of all. And one that was always worth taking.  
  
As her eyes lingered on the diamond solitare that adorned her finger, she smiled, again thanking God that she was able to take that risk.  
  
The sudden chirping of the phone shook her from her reverie. "Hello," she chimed merrily into the handset.  
  
"Can Spider-Man come out to play?"  
  
The eerie, computer augmented voice sent an unearthly chill down MJ's spine. Suddenly, she was back over the Queensboro Bridge, the iron grasp of the Green Goblin clamped around her neck, holding her high over the Hudson River. She dropped the handset as though it were electrically charged, and stood in stunned silence, her body leaning against the kitchen counter for support, her heart hammering a horrified tattoo in her chest.  
  
A sudden light rap on her door sent her jumping. "Wh-who's there?" she stammered.  
  
"MJ? You okay?" Mary Jane sighed in relief as she recognized her fiance's voice, as familiar and welcome as the sunrise. "Oh, just a sec, Peter," she called back, hurriedly replacing the handset and brushing her shirt and pants with her hands.  
  
"Is something wrong, MJ?" Peter called out. "You sound stressed."  
  
"Stressed?" MJ asked, as she opened the door. Peter stood in the hallway, his body tensed, as though prepared to spring into action. "Hey, easy, Peter," she forced a smile on her face as she dragged Peter into her apartment. "I'm fine, Tiger. I'm just getting psyched, is all. Hey, is that a chianti?"  
  
"You did say you were making Italian for dinner," Peter answered, handing MJ the wine bottle he was carrying and leaning in to give her a quick peck on the lips. "And don't change the subject. You sounded tense when I knocked. What's happening?"  
  
"Oh, that," MJ laughed slightly, as Peter's face bore an unconvinced smirk. "Actually I got a call just before you got here, that's what got me excited. Sergey told me about a new off-Broadway job that he recommended me for."  
  
Peter's eyebrows shot up. "Really?"  
  
"Yeah, and it's a great modern part too. Remember 'When Harry Met Sally'?" As MJ located two wine glasses in her cupboard, she filled Peter in on the details of her upcoming audition.  
  
Peter smiled broadly as MJ delivered her good news. "Hey, that's good news. Say, why don't I rent the movie and we can watch it together? Y'know, so you can bone up on the role?"  
  
MJ grinned knowingly at Peter's suggestion, as she handed him a glass of wine. "Peter, do you remember anything after the first half-hour of any movie you and I watched together on video since we got together?"  
  
"Sure, honey," Peter defended himself. "Last week, there was that Keanu Reeves thing with the bomb on the bus, and, uh, Sandra Bullock and Dennis Hopper were involved and...um..."  
  
"And we ended up making out on the couch until the closing credits," MJ grinned triumphantly. Peter lowered his head in mock-supplication. "Not that I don't enjoy the make-out sessions, but if I'm going to retain anything from watching the DVD, I'm gonna have to watch it without you in the room."  
  
"Gotcha," Peter nodded. "But seriously, I do hope you get the part."  
  
"Believe me," MJ lifted her wine glass to her lips, enjoying her first sip of the chianti, "so do I."  
  
"To Mary Jane Watson," Peter announced as he lifted his glass in a toast, "the next big thing on Broadway. And I give you my word, when you debut in this role, I won't be an empty seat in the auditorium. Even if I have to put the usher into a headlock to get in."  
  
"Thanks, Tiger," MJ answered. "And to Peter Parker, the first person to tell me I'd light up Broadway. Thank you." They clinked their glasses, and stole a moment gazing into each other's eyes.  
  
As Peter helped MJ put together the fritatta, MJ still felt a twinge of fear. The unholy voice behind the crank call still echoed in her mind. It sounded so much like the Green Goblin. But he was dead. He disappeared after the final battle at Queensboro Bridge. He was gone forever.  
  
Wasn't he?  
  
Even as she lay in Peter's arms that night after they made love, that nameless dread still gnawed at her. She felt the peace that she and Peter had achieved after so long was in danger. She clung to her sleeping lover, feeling his arms unconsciously cradling her body, and leaned her head protectively against his chest.  
  
"We'll save each other, Peter," she whispered to the night, her eyes staring protectively at her lover's face. "I won't lose you again."   
  


========

  
  
Author's Note: Thanks again for the feedback on my earlier effort, 'The Jackpot'. Hopefully this will measure up to your expectations.  
  
Some questions regarding JJJ; I'm kind of combining elements from the movie and the comic book. While the comic version of JJJ has him as a reasonable consciencious editor, he has had lapses; he backed both the creation of the Scorpion, and Spencer Smythe's Spider Slayers. I see the movie version of JJJ as mirroring the earlier money-grubbing ol' creep(first thing he did when his son was left at the altar was to call the caterer so he wouldn't have to pay for the caviar. Nice compassionate father, him). Don't know exactly what I'll do with him in future stories, but I don't see him as a one-dimensional heavy. We'll see what happens.   
  
Sensei; Hey, if I had a hot redhead like MJ waiting for me at home, I'd be happy too. The comic book Spider-Man has been known to crack wise under the most adverse of circumstances. He does so a little less in Spider-Man 2, but his life is pretty screwed going into it. What I tried to do with 'The Jackpot' was give Peter a moment of happiness. Because as 'The Goblin Wars' moves forward, well let's just say that things will be much less happy.  
  
How? Ah, that would be telling... 


	2. The Audition

Disclaimers; Nope, still don't own 'em. I even offered ten bucks on Ebay, but no takers. Oh well... Oh, and dialogue from 'When Harry Met Sally' was written by Nora Ephron, and owned by MGM.

Chapter two

The Audition

_"They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway..._

_They say there's always magic in the air..._

_But when you're walking down the street_

_And you ain't had enough to eat,_

_The glitter rubs right off and you're nowhere... _

_They say that I won't last that long on Broadway..._

_I'll catch a Greyhound bus for home, they all say..._

_But they're dead wrong, I know they are,_

_'Cause I can play this here guitar_

_And I won't quit 'til I'm a star on Broadway..."_

_--The Drifters_

_"On Broadway"_

"Mary Jane Watson," the calmly dispassionate voice from the auditorium called out. "You're next."

Mary Jane fought down the familiar tremors in her stomach as she strode onto the stage. She had done her share of auditions in the last few years, but this one was different for her. For one thing, it was the first time that a producer had specifically asked for her, as opposed to the traditional cattle-calls she had suffered through before. For another thing, this was the first time Peter was waiting for her in the lobby. She found herself wondering if he was standing up to the pressure better than she was.

MJ immediately put thoughts of her fiancé behind her for now and concentrated on her audition. She hoped that her assertive walk would give her the appearance of confidence. She wanted to make a positive impression on Kathy Ortez. She wanted this part.

Two shadowy figures sat in the tenth row of seats, dead center. Their faces obscured in the darkness, as a glaring spotlight bathed the stage in a thousand watts of moonlight. She figured them to be Miss Ortez and her director, a Los Angeles independent film auteur named Quentin Beck. "You may begin, Miss Watson." the stagehand's voice droned. "I'll read the part of Harry Burns."

Mary Jane found her spot on the stage and cleared her throat. Okay girl, she steeled herself. Do or die time.

"Well, basically it's the same dream I've been having since I was ten," she began to recite.

"Which is?" the voice asked.

"Okay, there's this guy..."

"What does he look like?"

"I don't know, he's just sort of faceless."

"Faceless guy, okay."

"He RIPS off my clothes—"

"CUT!" One of the two shadowed figures shouted. He stood up and approached the stage. As he drew closer, MJ could vaguely make out some of his features; a lean face, with a thin tapering nose, piercing green eyes and lightly swarthy complexion, framed by wisps of thinning brown hair. _The reclusive Quentin Beck, _she figured. "Excuse me, Miss Ryan," he started imperiously, "can I have a word with you?"

MJ gingerly stepped closer to the edge of the stage. "Uh, my name's Watson, actually," MJ corrected him timidly, her earlier confidence shaken by his imposing attitude. "Mary Jane Watson."

"Oh really?" Beck growled. "I'd have guessed you were Meg Ryan. Or at least channeling her. Tell me, how many times have you watched the video of 'When Harry Met Sally' this last week?"

MJ grimaced slightly, taken aback by his question. "Uh, six or seven, why?"

Beck sighed dramatically and paced along the aisle a couple of times. "See, that's the problem, Why, Miss Watson," he exaggerated the pronunciation of her name slightly, making her even more uncomfortable, "would people pay a hundred dollars for a performance they can rent at Tower Video for two bucks? That's the problem I'm seeing with you so far. You're trying too hard. You're ACTING!"

"I'm an ACTRESS!" she reminded him loudly, exasperation flaring in her emerald eyes, "what did you expect, a trained pigeon routine?"

Beck stopped in mid-rant at MJ's outburst, prompting the redhead to immediately regret opening her mouth. He turned toward the suddenly penitent actress and pointed a tapering finger at her. "Don't back off now, I liked that," he exclaimed. "You're showing spirit, fire, drama! You're letting down the masks and bringing yourself into the role..." He snapped his fingers and grabbed a copy of the script from an empty seat. "Miss Watson," he announced, "I want you to try something for me. I want you to read from page..." he thumbed through the script, looking for the right passage, "forty-seven. In that scene, Harry and Sally meet each other for the third time, and they finally become friends. I want you to read beginning from the scene where Sally is discussing her recent break-up with Joe, where she says, 'When Joe and I started seeing each other, we wanted exactly the same thing.' Right there."

"I can do that," MJ affirmed. She glanced around the stage to find her spot, but Beck stopped her. "Wait, I haven't given you your directions yet; I don't want you to act the scene. I want you to read the scene like it's your life, something that happened to you, like...you got a boyfriend?" he asked suddenly.

"Uh, yeah," MJ answered hesitantly. "A fiancé, actually. Peter."

"Peter. Nice name," Beck rapidly stated. "Okay, from this point on, you're not reading for the part of Sally Albright in 'When Harry Met Sally'. I want you to read for the part of Mary Jane Watson in 'When Peter Met Mary Jane'. You just met Peter for the first time after a few years and you're telling him about your life. Do you understand what I'm saying?

Mary Jane considered Beck's words for a moment then nodded. "I'll try, Mr. Beck," she stated.

Beck shook his head mockingly. "Do or do not, Miss Watson," he intoned, his voice carrying equal parts humor and condescension, "there is no try." MJ sighed briefly before returning to her spot on the stage.

She glanced over her lines for a second, considering how she would react if she were Sally Albright in this moment; so self-assured after what she felt was a amicable break-up...then she found herself thinking of six months ago, when she ran away from the chapel, from John, from the promise of security, and into the arms of the man she truly loved. With a knowing smile, she nodded her readiness to Beck.

"And begin," Beck commanded.

"When Joe and I started seeing each other," she began, somehow envisioning John Jameson as the absent Joe, "we wanted exactly the same thing. We wanted to live together, but we didn't want to get married because every time anyone we knew got married, it ruined their relationship. They practically never had sex again. It's true; it's one of the secrets that no one ever tells you. I would sit around with my girlfriends who have kids—and, actually, my one girlfriend who has kids, Alice—and she would complain about how she and Gary never did it anymore. She didn't even complain about it, now that I think about it. She just said it matter-of-factly. She said they were up all night, they were both exhausted all the time—the kids just took every sexual impulse they had out of them. And Joe and I used to talk about it, and we'd say we were so lucky we have this wonderful relationship; we can have sex on the kitchen floor and not worry about the kids walking in. We can fly off to Rome on a moment's notice."

It had only recently occurred to her that she and John never really talked about family. With her own screwed up family life, she never really considered the idea of being a mother herself. It seemed so alien to her, that she never approached the subject seriously with John. He was a good man, but he just didn't seem to be father material. _Given what a bastard his dad is,_ she huffed silently, _it's probably just as well._

But when she imagined Peter, saw the obvious love that he had for his aunt May, and the bond he clearly had with his uncle Ben (_Would he ever forgive himself for his death?_ MJ thought absently, her heart going out to Peter), and smiled inwardly; of course he would want kids. He was meant to be a father; it was clearly something he was cut out to do. On stage at that moment, considering what she was about to recite, she realized that she wanted someday to have Peter's children. And that thought didn't seem alien to her at all! After all, Peter was no Philip Watson. He would love and cherish any life that they brought into this world. And so would she. With that knowledge, she launched back into her recital.

"And then one day I was taking Alice's little girl for the afternoon because I'd promised to take her to the circus, and we were in the cab playing "I Spy"—I spy a mailbox, I spy a lamp-post—and she looked out the window and she saw this man and this woman with these two little kids. And the man had one of the little kids on his shoulders, and she said, "I spy a family." And I started to cry. You know, I just started crying. And I went home, and I said, 'the thing is, Joe, we never do fly off to Rome on a moment's notice'."

"And the kitchen floor?" Beck fed her the next line.

"Not once," she grimaced slightly. "It's this very cold, hard Mexican ceramic tile." Beck made a slight humming noise, indicating Harry's next line. "Anyway, we talked about it for a long time and I said, "This is what I want." and he says, "Well I don't." and I said, "Well I guess it's over," and he left. And the thing is I... I feel really fine. I am over him; I mean I really am over him. And that was it for him. That was the most that he could give. And every time I think about it I am more and more convinced that I did the right thing. At least I got the apartment--"

"Thank you, Miss Watson," Beck cut her off with a curt wave of his hand. He leaned toward Kathy Ortez and whispered in her ear. She whispered back for a moment, and the two continued this silent exchange. MJ stood pensively, desperately trying not to sweat; she had been on the receiving end of this 'deafening silence' routine before, and it usually meant that she was out of the running for whatever role she was trying for.

After about three minutes of whispered exchanges, Beck turned back to MJ and said, "Yes, I think we've seen enough, Miss Watson. Thank you." MJ's heart sank; no matter how many typical Broadway dismissals she had received over the last two years, that final 'thank you' still hurt like Hell.

As MJ began the long walk off of the stage, Beck called after her. "Oh, one more thing before you go, Miss Watson..."

========

For Peter, the last hour or so waiting for MJ had fallen into a strange routine; pace the floor, sit down, thumb through a six-month old issue of New Yorker, stand up again, pace again, repeat until bored. After about half an hour, he excluded reading the New Yorker when he noticed an announcement on the 'About Town' page, heralding the wedding of Mary Jane Watson and John Jacob Jameson II. Even considering the fact that the aforementioned wedding didn't take place, he still found it disconcerting to read about it.

So he resumed pacing. At least three other people in the waiting area with him started to give him odd looks. One woman glanced kindly toward Peter, saying, "Hi. I'm Shelly."

"Peter," the young science student answered.

"First time, huh? Waiting for someone?"

"That obvious?"

She nodded. "My boyfriend's been going to cattle-calls for weeks. He's trying out for the part of Harry."

Peter nodded. "My fiancé," he started, but paused slightly; given their checkered history, Peter still felt the urge to display a goofy grin whenever he thought of MJ as his fiancé. "She's trying out for Sally."

"Ah," the other woman nodded sympathetically. "Good luck."

Peter smirked for a moment. "Isn't that 'break a leg'?" He and his partner in waiting shared a muffled laugh, and continued the waiting game.

After an eternity (or fifteen minutes, according to Peter's watch), MJ slowly emerged from the staging area. Peter immediately stood up and examined her face; the slightly bent posture, the sag in her shoulders and the gleam of unshed tears in her eyes told him all he needed to know. He gently cradled her chin in his hand and spoke soothingly in her ear; "It's okay, honey. It's gonna be okay. You'll show 'em. I know you will."

MJ slowly lifted her head, green eyes meeting blue. While visible tears started to course their way down her cheeks, the smile that suddenly blossomed on her face was genuine and glowing. Peter found himself taken slightly aback at the sight; if she was smiling joyously after her audition...

"I got the part," she breathed, almost disbelieving it herself.

"You got the part?" Peter repeated her words in wonderment.

"I got the part!" She launched herself into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time, her joy spreading easily to Peter as he lifted her body into the air, hugging her fiercely. "I got the part, I got the part, I got the part!" she continued to cry out joyously.

Shelly smiled at the sight of the two lovers as they celebrated their fortune. And she made a mental note to warn her boyfriend away from his new costar if his audition went well. Although the way that the redhead suddenly started kissing the young man who held her in his arms put any fears she had to rest.

========

"That's wonderful, Peter," May Parker declared as Peter called her up from his cellular with the good news. "Is Mary Jane with you?"

"Right here, Aunt May," Peter answered before handing the phone to MJ and half-listened to her end of the conversation as he simply enjoyed a late summer day in Central Park. A cooling breeze pushed a few clouds across the sky, while a sweet clear birdsong issued from the nearby poplars; amid all this greenery, it was almost easy to forget that they were in the heart of the largest, busiest metropolis in the world. Of course, whenever Peter caught MJ's glorious green eyes peering into his, or felt the soft warmth of her hand in his, it was easy for him to forget the rest of the world.

"Don't worry, Miss Parker," MJ assured her on the cel phone. "Okay, Aunt May. Don't worry, I'll make sure you have a front row seat on opening night. You and Peter, yes. Okay. Thanks. I love you too. 'Bye." MJ handed the phone back to Peter, saying, "She wants to talk to you."

"Hello, Aunt May?" Peter asked as he took the phone in his hands.

"Just so you know," Aunt May said in an affectionately stern tone of voice, "I promised your girlfriend that I'd be there on opening night. And I'll expect to see you there too, young man."

"Don't worry," laughed Peter. "Wild horses couldn't keep me away."

"That's good to hear. You two take care of yourself."

"We will," Peter assured his aunt. As he glanced back at MJ, he noticed the redhead mouthing the word 'Saturday' as a reminder. "Oh," Peter added hastily, "why don't we get together for lunch on Saturday, the three of us? MJ's been telling me about this new sandwich shop overlooking Rockefeller Center."

"I'd be delighted, Peter," May assured him.

"I'll see you there. Love you."

"I love you too, dear."

"Bye." Final farewells were exchanged, and Peter turned off his phone and placed it back in his pocket. "And that's a go," he announced. "Saturday, we'll tell Aunt May the big news...I mean the other big news that's not related to your playing the female lead in 'When Harry Met Sally', that is," he amended as he gently draped his arm around MJ's shoulders. "Have I mentioned lately how proud I am of you?"

"Only fifteen times in the last hour," MJ teased Peter as she leaned happily into the crook of his shoulder. "I definitely have a good feeling about this role. Quentin Beck, the director, he already has me thinking about the part of Sally Albright in different ways. During the audition, he basically told me to stop acting. And at first I'm like, 'yeah I've heard that too many times already.' But he was right. I needed to just get out of my own way, to imagine myself in the situation Sally was in."

"Sounds like this Quentin knows his stuff," Peter commented.

"Yeah, he was definitely right on my take on the role," MJ continued. "I was getting too bogged down in remembering the movie version and everything else. I was making it too complicated." She paused and noticed the amused smile on Peter's face. "What's so funny, Peter?" she demanded.

"Nothing, babe," Peter answered. "I just remember someone telling me pretty much the same thing a while back."  
  
MJ rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Well I wasn't wrong, was I?"

"Oh no, not at all," Peter answered. "Of course things are about to get pretty hectic here soon. Once we tell Aunt May that we're getting married, she'll want to help plan the wedding."

"Yeah, there's that," MJ conceded the point. "Hopefully the play will be a big enough hit. If I can help foot the bill..."

"We, MJ, we," Peter corrected his fiancé. "Remember, I'm making a little more now with my student teacher position."

"I didn't think you'd be making that much as a student teacher."

"Hey, it's more than I was making as a freelance photographer for JJJ," Peter defended himself.

"Peter," MJ reminded him, "McDonalds pays more than JJJ. Besides," she added as she turned toward her lover, draping her arms around Peter's neck, "all I need is you, your aunt, my mom and a justice of the peace. And the hilltop."

Peter's mouth broke into a lopsided smile as he regarded the beautiful red-haired angel in his arms. "Wh-what is it you want, Mary?" he started to drawl thickly, causing MJ to laugh merrily. "D'you want the moon? Well say the word and I'll tie a rope around it and bring it down for you. Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll give you the moon."

"It is a wonderful life," MJ breathed as she smiled lovingly at Peter before leaning into him for a languid kiss.

========

"RENT!" the familiar shriek assailed Peter's ears as he and MJ entered his apartment building. Immediately, the landlord threw open his apartment door and glared hard at Peter, causing the young man's eyes to roll.

"Hello, Mr. Ditkovitch," Peter feigned happiness to see his landlord. "I'd like you to meet my fiance, Mary Jane Watson." He gestured toward MJ, who flashed the landlord with a slight smile and wave.

"Very nice," Ditkovitch growled. "Rent!"

"I put a check in your mailbox this morning," Peter reminded him. "I just got paid yesterday, so it will clear. And while we're here, my refrigerator still isn't working."

"If your check clears," Ditkovitch snarled sourly, "I'll put you on a waiting list." Without another word, Mr. Ditkovitch slammed his door, leaving Peter standing on the other side.

MJ took Peter's arm in hers and led him away from his tormentor. Peter shook his head and glanced at MJ. "I think he's starting to chill out."

As they entered Peter's upstairs apartment, MJ asked, "Have you given any consideration to my suggestion Tuesday, about moving in with me?"

"Believe me," Peter answered, collecting the redhead in his arms again. "I've thought of little else for the last few days."

MJ took a seat on the sofa, beckoning Peter to join her. As he sat next to her, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and swung her legs around so they rested on Peter's lap. Peter maneuvered his body slightly, his arms encircling her waist, his form molding naturally to hers. "I know it's a big decision, Peter," MJ said soothingly, her hand slowly combing through Peter's hair. "But think of the advantages. We could be together every night from now on."

"We do that anyway," Peter offered, winning a sour smirk from his girlfriend.  
  
"You're making my case for me," MJ countered. "We've both slept in the same bed..." Peter regarded her with a slight leer. "Or not slept, as is often the case," she amended her statement with a sly wink, "almost every night since we got engaged. Having two apartments to juggle between us is just crazy-making. If you officially moved into my place, we could split the rent and utilities, saving us both a lot of money per month."

"And I'm on board with that, MJ. No problem." Peter reluctantly removed his arms from MJ's waist in order to turn himself so he faced her. "I guess my problem is that your place is about the same size as mine, give or take. And my place, well, look around," he spread his arm out, gesturing toward a nearby wall, demonstrating the unpleasantly cramped apartment. "I just don't want to put you out, y'know."

MJ leaned toward Peter, kissing him on the nose. "I understand," she purred. "And it is sweet of you."

"Actually," Peter suggested, "what we should do is find a couple's apartment. Something big enough for both of us."

"Or more," MJ quipped, almost a whisper. Peter heard the words, though, and stared hard at her for a second. MJ regarded Peter's sudden stare with a questioning glance, before chuckling in comprehension. "No, Peter, I'm not," she assured him. "At least not yet. But someday...during the audition, when Quentin told me to stop acting and put myself in the role, I found myself thinking about us, a few years down the road, raising a brood of our own."

"Really?" Peter mused. "For what it's worth, I think you'll make a dynamite mother."

"Yeah, I probably will," MJ grinned. "Mainly because you'll be a natural father, and I'll just follow your lead. Seriously though, I do want to have your children someday. If nothing else I can prove that my screwed-up start in life doesn't mean that my kids will have that strike against them."

Peter cupped her cheek in his palm and lifted her face to meet his, green eyes to blue. "Not a chance, MJ," Peter assured her. "You brought me around, after all, when I kept trying to let you go. You have too much love in you."

MJ smiled warmly, again marveling at Peter's uncanny ability to know what she's feeling and to respond to it. "Thanks, Peter," she breathed as she lifted her hand to touch the one caressing her cheek. "I love you, y'know that?"

"How convenient," Peter drawled. "Because I happen to be crazy in love with you." The next few minutes were spent wordlessly, as Peter and MJ found their mouths otherwise, and pleasantly, occupied.

After a few minutes, Peter backed away from MJ's lips to simply gaze into her eyes, when he noticed a blinking light on the answering machine next to his phone. "Uh, hold that thought," Peter reluctantly disentangled himself from MJ's arms and legs. "Let me just check my messages."

"I'll keep your place warm, Tiger," MJ cooed, her voice taking on overtones of a growl.

Peter pressed a button on his machine, and listened as the digital recorder clicked to life; "You have 2 messages"—BEEP—"Peter, this is Robbie. I just wanted to remind you that we have a five p.m. deadline on those photos from the Oscorp symposium tomorrow. Get me some good color shots for the front page and I'll front you a bonus. Yeah, JJJ'l have kittens when he finds out, but I'm running the paper now, not him. Talk to you tomorrow."—BEEP—"Hey, Peter." Peter's heart lurched slightly at the familiar voice on the machine. "Harry here. I was going over the guest list for the company symposium, and I found your name there. I'm glad you'll be attending, Peter, because we need to talk. Hey, if she's available, bring MJ with you. I'll have a VIP pass ready for her. Hope to see you tomorrow, Petey. We'll talk later." "No more messages." 

Peter glanced back toward MJ, who regarded the young science student with questioning eyes. "What's wrong, Peter?" she asked as she got up from the couch. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Peter stood silently for a second, summoning the courage to articulate his thoughts. "Harry," Peter whispered, his voice conveying a sick dread. "He wants to talk to us tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah," MJ puzzled aloud. "Wasn't that what the message was about?" She noticed the sudden clench of his jaw, and the way his hands were balled into tense fists. "What is it, Peter? I thought you'd be glad to hear from Harry. I mean he was only your best friend since high-school."

"Present company excluded," Peter admitted, "best and only. But that was then, MJ. Now, I'm not so sure."

MJ took Peter's hand in her own, gently massaging the palm with the ball of her thumb. "Why, Peter? I know he was obsessing a bit about his father's death..."

"That's just it," Peter raised his voice a trifle. "He knows, MJ. When Doctor Octopus kidnapped me, he brought me to Harry. Harry unmasked me. He knows I'm Spider-Man."

MJ glanced sidelong at Peter again, still uncertain what he was saying. "Then he knows that Spider-Man didn't kill his father. You couldn't kill anyone."

Peter lowered his head in remembered shame. This was something that he hadn't told MJ about that terrible night, a dread secret he had hoped to keep to his grave, and now he had to confront the truth. "MJ, that night, I could have killed Norman Osborn. After what he did to you, I wanted him to pay in blood."

"For what?" MJ asked, still lost. "Badmouthing me on Thanksgiving dinner?"

"No, for dropping you and a gondola car off the Queensboro Bridge!" Peter shouted, his voice pushing MJ back about a foot. "For making me believe it was my fault that you were in danger because I'm Spider-Man!" He turned away, ashamed of the rage he felt, at the sudden pain and fear he saw in MJ's eyes when he spoke to her in anger. "Norman Osborn was the Green Goblin. He was impaled by his own glider, when he tried to use it to kill me. And I wanted him dead, for all he had done, to you, to Aunt May..." He shuddered again, almost afraid of his own darkness, and prayed silently that MJ would understand.

He felt slender arms gliding around his chest, as MJ stood behind him, leaning into his back. "It's okay, Peter," she soothed. "Norman Osborn's dead. The Goblin is dead. He can't hurt us again."

Peter heard MJ's words, and with all his heart he desired to believe them. But there was still that nagging fear; what if Harry Osborn were to learn the terrible truth about his father? What if he were to discover a cache of pumpkin grenades, razor-gyros and heavily armed gliders?

What if Osborn's legacy extended to the hideous leering face of the Green Goblin?

========

_Author's notes; Sorry it took me so long to update. RL, y'know. And yes, I know, not much Spider-Man action in this one. Bear with me, I have a couple more chapters to set things up. Next up, a confrontation between Peter, MJ and Harry, plus a little Goblin action maybe._

_For the sake of complete disclosure, much of the audition part of this chapter was borrowed from ASM #509, written by J. Michael Straszynski._

_And yes, I've been introducing some prominent supporting characters, including some possible villains. I'm fleshing out the supporting cast in this story, possibly setting up some future storylines. I don't want to clutter up my story with too many characters at once(that's what killed the Batman movie franchise, remember), but hopefully I'll have more stories to tell here._

_Thanks for all the feedback, and keep it comin'!_

_Peace out,_

_Kirayoshi_


	3. Weird Science Stories

Chapter Three

Weird Science Stories

* * *

_"Poetry in motion_

_When she turned her eyes to me_

_As deep as any ocean_

_As sweet as any harmony._

_She blinded me with Science_

_She hit me with technology_

_When she's dancing next to me_

_I can hear machinery!"_

_--Thomas Dolby_

_"She Blinded Me With Science"_

* * *

One year ago:

Harry Osborn looked at the sheath of blueprints and schematics with a baleful glance before regarding the inventor with thinly concealed contempt. "Mr. Smythe," Harry spoke calmly, "you must understand that this project--what did you call it again?"

"The Spider-Slayer, Mr. Osborn," Spencer Smythe answered. "I believe that this robot will be the perfect tool to bring Spider-Man to justice."

Harry shook his head, sighing deeply. "Mr. Smythe, you're wasting my time. We have police to deal with criminals like Spider-Man. Oscorp Industries is about technology, not law-enforcement."

"But sir," Smythe tried to defend himself. "These robot hunters would be the perfect tool to aid in law-enforcement. These robots could be deployed to handle terrorist situations, or other scenarios that conventional law-enforcement would be ill-equipped to deal with. Consider the contract we could make with the NYPD if this succeeds!"

"Consider the entire police department going on strike when their jobs are threatened by these Robo-Cop rejects!" Harry sneered. He sat behind his desk, leaning back in his father's leather-upholstered office chair, steepling his fingers against his nose. "Mr. Smythe, I'm sorry, but due to our losing military contracts last year, Oscorp has to tighten its budget, which means that some departments are being closed. I'm afraid that we're going to have to dismantle your robotics division. I am prepared to offer you a recommendation to any other company, but effective at close of this business today, you are no longer employed by this company."

Spencer Smythe gaped at the son of his late employer, his face ashen with disbelief. "Sir," he stammered, "please reconsider, I beg of you. I've served this company faithfully for over twenty years!"

"And I appreciate that," Harry answered calmly. "Which is why I will be more than glad to provide a reasonable severance package and a glowing recommendation for any company where you may apply for employment."

"Very well," Smythe glowered. "If I may take my blueprints, I'll be on my way." He reached for the plans, but Harry swiped them off of his desk.

"I believe that if you read your contract," Harry spoke in icy tones, "you'll find that any concepts created on company time belong to Oscorp Industries, not you personally. These blueprints are mine now, and if you attempt to sell your silly plans to any of my competitors, I will have no choice but to take legal action. Now, if you will excuse me..."

Spencer Smythe slammed his arms across Harry's desk, sending sheaths of paper flying. "I will NOT excuse you, you snot-nosed little punk! I've been inventing cutting edge technologies for your father while you were struggling with the rudiments of potty-training! The last thing I want is charity from some pampered infant who's barely qualified to be fry-cook at Burger King, let alone CEO of Oscorp!"

"Fine," Harry's face stiffened into cold hard mask. "You can forget the recommendation. And the severance package. I'll have security escort you off the premises."

Smythe glared at Harry in undisguised hatred. "You have not heard the last of me, whelp!" He turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of Harry's office. Harry Osborn called security to deal with Smythe, wrote a memo to remind payroll to mail Smythe his final paycheck, and thought no more on the matter. He didn't have time to deal with a hotheaded inventor with delusions of grandeur, not when he had a company to salvage.

And a father to avenge.

* * *

Present day:

"I want to go home," MJ informed Peter as they entered the main auditorium at Oscorp. Peter smirked slightly at the sight of a hundred stuffy scientists filing into the chamber around them, eager to hear the major announcement that Harry Osborn had promised to deliver at the annual symposium.

"Believe me," Peter breathed softly, "I'm right there with you."

"Okay, you make a distraction, and we'll make a run for it," MJ giggled. Peter snickered along with her, wishing that he could earnestly entertain her notion. "Don't worry, Peter," MJ assured him as they found their seats. "I'm not gonna do anything drastic."

"Good," Peter whispered.

"But you still owe me dinner," MJ reminded him. "And not at some deli where they write the menu on a chalkboard."

"You kiddin'?" Peter replied in an exaggerated Bronx accent, "I know a jernt so classy the check's engraved."

MJ just smiled, and kissed Peter lightly on the cheek. "I love you, y'know," she whispered sweetly.

"Well, that's a relief," Peter quipped, "or otherwise people would think that you kiss total strangers on the cheek." MJ playfully swatted Peter's arm as Dr. Curt Connors took his seat on Peter's opposite side. 

"Peter," Connors greeted the young man. "Glad to see you bright eyed and bushy tailed this fine morning."

"Good to see you to, Doc," Peter answered. "Oh, Dr. Connors, this is my fiancé, MJ Watson."

"Mary Jane Watson?" the blond-haired woman sitting next to Connors asked. "**_The_** Mary Jane Watson? This is a pleasure. I enjoyed your performance in 'The Importance of Being Earnest' last year."

"Thanks," MJ grinned, pleased to meet a genuine fan.

"Oh," Connors interrupted the conversation. "And this is my wife, Martha. Martha, this is Peter Parker, the young student I've told you so much about."

"Hope you don't hold that against me," Peter demurred slightly, as his mind travelled back briefly to his first meeting with Dr. Otto Octavius. "Professor Connors tells me that you're brilliant," Octavius smiled as he greeted him. "He also tells me that you are lazy." Peter shook his head vigorously, banishing that memory from his consciousness. He had worked long and hard to regain Doctor Connors' trust since then, he was not about to blow it again.

"Not at all," Martha smiled generously. "In fact he thinks the world of you."

"Believe me," Peter admitted, "I'm the one who lucked out, working with Dr. Connors. Oh, and skulking about somewhere in a disreputable fedora—" Peter looked around for a second, before spotting a barely-shaven face peering out of a rumpled suit, "is Ned Leeds, who's covering this little shindig for the Daily Bugle." Ned nodded without saying a word, and waved his hand in a casual salute. Martha ignored the reporter entirely.

"The power of the press," Dr. Connors nodded. "Love it or hate it, my project requires it."

Martha grunted noncommittally. "I just don't know if I want my husband's work to be associated with that rag. I mean, the way the Bugle's editor keeps trashing Spider-Man."

"You may be assured, milady," Ned announced gallantly, "that our current acting editor Robert Robertson, will deal more fairly with all topics. Be they scientific discoveries or spandex fetishists."

Peter began to smirk slightly. _Little did he know... _he thought with a knowing chuckle that MJ caught on to. Before Ned or anyone else could speak any further on the subject, the house lights dimmed, and a spotlight stabbed through the darkness, illuminating the podium on the left side of the stage. "You're on," Ned jostled Peter's elbow, as Peter lifted his camera.

As Peter lined the sight to his eyes and concentrated on his focus, MJ leaned into his ear and whispered, "Lenscap." Peter stifled an urge to laugh out loud at MJ's comment, harking back to the movie they saw together two nights ago; the word she spoke was the last line of the movie. Peter glanced back toward MJ, who just smiled puckishly.

As Peter readied his camera(and made sure that the lenscap was off), a familiar sandy-red haired young man strode to a waiting podium. Harry Osborn's posture spoke of confidence, the controlled gleam in his eyes radiated calm determination. Peter found himself scanning the face of his one-time closest friend, hoping to see at some level the same young man who befriended him on his first day of high school. Harry kept his eyes pointed straight ahead; he clearly wasn't seeking Peter out in the audience. Peter sighed slightly and began lining his camera for the better shots.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Harry began as he stood behind the microphone at the podium. "Honored scientists and members of the press, greetings. This is the first time that I've had the privilege to host this symposium. Indeed, this marks the first time that Oscorp has hosted this event; prior to our recent corporate restructuring, this company has been largely interested in military applications of technology. But, as Bob Dylan said, 'The times, they are a-changin'. Since I inherited this company from my late father, I have had to steer through choppy waters, as Oscorp had lost several of its military contracts, along with several members of its board of directors, due in large part to several seemingly random attacks by the criminal the media referred to as the Green Goblin."

Harry turned his head slightly, his eyes suddenly affixed on Peter's face, as though homing onto him. Peter flinched slightly, but kept his camera focused on the Chief Executive Officer of Oscorp. Peter couldn't read Harry's face from the distance between his seat and the podium; Harry's eyes were hooded, his face set in a serious caste. "But that is in the past," Harry continued. "And it is time for this corporation to enter the future. So I wish to thank all the scientists, inventors and other distinguished minds who answered my invitation, and I hope to speak with many of you in person, either over the weekend or at a later date. Because I will require as many of you as would wish to join with Oscorp to help me achieve this future. Ladies and gentlemen," he nodded once to a stagehand, and a movie screen slowly lowered behind the podium. Taking the microphone in his hand, Harry stepped out from the podium. "It is my pleasure at this time to introduce Oscorp International's most ambitious undertaking, the Ad Astra project."

The spotlight shut off, plunging the auditorium in darkness. Slowly, pinpoints of light appeared on the screen, as the multimedia presentation began. A night sky was projected on the screen, as the opening brass strains of 'Thus Spake Zarathustra' built into a crescendo over the audience. Peter leaned toward MJ, whispering, "Couldn't he have done something original with the soundtrack?"

"Despite my father's many military contracts," Harry's voice rang over the throbbing kettle-drums, "there was one non-military project about which he was passionate; space exploration." On the screen, the Space Shuttle Discovery drifted across the starscape. "In the last half of the twentieth century, mankind has made its first faltering steps out of the cradle that is the Earth. However, due to various factors, our progress in this arena has been stunted. The current state of the art in space travel, NASA's Space Shuttle, is over twenty years old. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't trust a car that old!" This comment bought him a faint smattering of laughs from his audience. "And for all its technology, the Shuttle still hasn't ventured past Earth orbit. Ladies and gentlemen, I believe, as my father believed before me, that not only can we do better, but for our survival as a species we must do better. President John Kennedy said in his inaugural address in 1961 that he would make it his mission to put a man on the surface of the moon within the decade. A lofty goal that NASA managed to achieve. Today, I propose my goal for the next ten years; to establish a permanent manned science station in solar orbit, between the Earth and Mars!"

Harry clicked the remote he carried in his hand, and the image of the Shuttle faded, to be replaced by a computer generated image of a different craft. This new vehicle was sleeker than the shuttle, more tapered, its nose sloping more subtly, like a slightly rounded wedge merging into a flattened cone. "Introducing the theoretical flagship of Oscorp's new space program, Ad Astra. From the Latin, 'ad astra per aspera'; through our endeavors, the stars. The Ad Astra is still in the planning stages, but Oscorp Aerospace has already begun the painstaking process of ironing out the glitches; we intend to test and retest every component of the Ad Astra through computer sims before forging a single bolt. The Ad Astra will be a sleeker, more durable and more fuel-efficient design than the Space Shuttle, allowing for longer trips. The planned Hestia satellite will serve as a docking and refueling station for the Ad Astra shuttles, as well as a space-bound laboratory and scientific research center. Within twenty to thirty years, our projected plan is to build a permanent settlement on Mars, as well as several small lunar colonies. Pipe dreams, you may think, but without the politicking and budget cuts that NASA has faced over the years, we at Oscorp feel that we will succeed. I have no political agenda, I have no desire to run for public office—"

"A statement only spoken," Ned interjected sotto voce, just loud enough for Peter, MJ and Dr. and Mrs. Connors to hear it, "by someone who is planning a bid for public office somewhere down the line."

"My only ambition is to see this project through to its fruition," Harry concluded. The screen faded to black, and the house lights went back on. "With the aid of other private investors, I feel wholeheartedly that Ad Astra will open a new chapter in mankind's conquest of space. And with the support of the scientific community, in the creation and improvement of the technologies required for such an undertaking, I have no doubt that we will succeed. In fact, I expect a large percentage of the scientists gathered for this symposium to serve aboard Hestia in the next ten years." A wave of applause greeted Harry's declaration, spurred on by the obvious passion and dedication he clearly felt for the project.

As the applause subsided, Harry continued; "The current time table calls for Ad Astra to make her maiden voyage within the next year. And it is my pleasure at this time to introduce the flagship's captain, the first astronaut we've recruited to join our happy family at Oscorp. It is my honor to present former NASA astronaut John J. Jameson."

MJ startled slightly, as Peter nearly dropped his camera. He managed to avoid breaking the sensitive instrument, and after a brief moment of incredulity, began firing off shot after shot of John Jameson standing next to Harry, shaking his hand and waving to the crowd. He managed to get enough images of the famed astronaut to assure a decent front-page photo for the Daily Bugle.

MJ glanced back at Peter, noticing the sudden tension in his jawline. "You okay, Tiger?"

Peter turned toward MJ, letting her warm jade eyes penetrate his facade of calm. "How is it," Peter grumbled slightly, "that I'm always taking this guy's picture?"

MJ gently placed her arm around Peter's shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze. "Hey, look on the bright side," she whispered softly in his ear. "This time, I'm down here with you, instead of up there with him."

Peter turned to MJ, seeing the light playing off her green eyes and making them sparkle as she smiled_. I have no idea where I was before I met you, Mary Jane,_ he thought, _but I hope I never have to go there again._

Peter got in two more shots of John Jameson as he began to make his speech (which Ned was writing down in a wild shorthand that only he could decipher), when a familiar flash of vertigo assailed his inner-ear. MJ sensed his body tensing, as Peter's smile faded suddenly. "You okay?" MJ asked.

Peter shook his head. "Spider sense," he whispered curtly. MJ nodded, her eyes glancing around. "Uh, Peter, why don't you show me around, while my ex-fiancée wows the crowd?"

"Uh, sure," Peter answered, glancing at Professor Connors. "That is, if that's all right with you guys."

"Go, Peter," Curt Connors answered. "You've fulfilled your obligations for today. But I'll expect to see you next Monday, bright and early."

"I'm there," Peter answered as he ushered MJ past the Connors's and Ned. Ned simply waved with two fingers, before returning to his frenetic scribbling. Without another word, Peter and MJ silently vacated the lecture hall and ducked down the first available corridor.

"All clear," MJ whispered as she scouted ahead of Peter. Peter swiftly divested of his street clothing, revealing the familiar red-and-blue spandex costume, the ridged webbing shining dimly in the fluorescent light overhead. "Any sign of whatever tripped your alarms?"

"Not yet," Peter said hurriedly as he pulled his mask and gloves out of his backpack. As he handed MJ the backpack and donned his gloves, he added, " Thanks for the cover story, MJ. Now, you find a nice safe place away from here, and go there."

"I'll be okay, Peter," MJ answered as she gathered Peter's discarded clothing and stuffed it in the backpack. "They engrave the bills, right?"

"They even have linen hand towels in the restrooms," Peter grinned as he finished donning his boots, before pulling his mask over his head.

Just before he could pull the mask over his nose, MJ placed a finger on his lips, stopping him long enough for her to lean in and kiss him quickly. "Love you, Tiger," she breathed, "and the deli will be fine with me."

"Love you back," Peter answered, just as a sudden crash from the direction of the lecture hall rattled the walls around them. "That's my cue," he announced as he pulled down the mask, grabbed his camera and leapt toward the lecture hall.

MJ watched in stunned silence, mixed with awe, as the man she loved raced off to face whatever danger was threatening. "Stay safe," she whispered, before finding some nearby cover.

* * *

"OSBORN!" The hideous computer-altered voice grated on the eardrums. "Where are you, you bastard?"

People ran frantically away from the gaping hole in the ceiling, as plaster and bent steel rained down on the suddenly empty seats. The enormous thing that broke through the ceiling scanned the surroundings with red glowing photoreceptors and audio receptors. The object that caused the scene of horror was an enormous robot in the shape of a huge spider, nearly twelve feet in length from mandibles to tail. The eight thick legs were tipped in huge pincers; the four forward legs grabbed at the scientists while the four rear-legs spread out below it, stabilizing the mechanical nightmare. "Give me Osborn," the robot shouted, grabbing a fleeing scientist by the wrist. "If I don't see him in ten seconds, this guy gets perforated!"

"Well, well, well," a voice called out from the wall behind the giant spider. "Whose toy box did you escape from?" The spider turned around, its hind legs scuttling around with speed that belied its size, as its hideous head craned forward, its glowing eyes scanning the new threat. "Spider-Man!" the mechanical monster screeched as it observed the spandex-wearing figure perched almost casually on the wall. The pincer released its captive, who rushed away from the fracas. "How perfect is this?"  
  
"I dunno," Spider-Man drawled. "How perfect is it?"

"I prayed for the opportunity to prove the merits of my Spider-Slayer," the robot shouted, "and now you've fallen into my web!" With lightning speed, the Spider-Slayer threw its left foreleg toward the wall-crawling hero.

Spider-Man dodged the leg just barely, tumbling across the floor past the Slayer, and jumping to the stage. "No way I'm gonna get clocked by a runaway erector set!" Two forelegs reared, firing blasts of superheated plasma at the leaping figure. "Okay, that's just cheating," Spider-Man announced as he dodged the blasts. "Besides, you're lifting my theme here! I should sue you for copyright infringement!" With practiced ease, Spider-Man lifted his hands, firing streams of webbing at the robot spider.

The webs bounced off the thing's hull soundlessly. "I was prepared for you, Spider-Man," the Slayer declared. "Your webs won't stick to me! My body is coated in a teflon-bonded ceramic sheath!"

"Great," Spider-Man announced as he dodged a sudden gout of fire from a flame-thrower concealed in one of the Slayer's legs. "It maims, it kills, _and_ it makes the perfect three-egg omelet! Now how much would you pay?" He ducked backstage as the robot fired more shots toward him.

"Coward!" the Slayer screeched. "Come back here or I'll kill everyone in this room!" He shot a spray of fire over the doors to the auditorium, discouraging anyone from attempting to escape.

Spider-Man stood tensely, his back against the wall, planning his next move. "Great," he whispered to himself. "Not enough room for me in there to take that overgrown Erector set down. If only I could draw it outside..."

"Spider-Man," a harsh whispered voice broke his concentration, and he glanced around. Harry Osborn and John Jameson stepped toward him from the darkness. "I was afraid this would happen," Harry said sadly, shaking his head.

"Look, Osborn," Spider-Man glared hard at the son of the Green Goblin. "I know I'm not on your Christmas card list, but do you mind too terribly if I try to save those lives in there?"

"Easy, Spider-Man," Harry answered. "I'm on your side, I just want that thing off my property."

"Any idea who's controlling that robot?" John asked. "It occurs to me that the way it's talking, that can't be a programmed response. Someone has to be piloting that thing from remote-control or somesuch."

"Good thought, Jameson," Spider-Man answered. "I think I saw camera lenses in its photo-receptors. And whoever's running the show, he seems to have a mad on against you, Osborn."

"Maybe because I fired him last year," Harry answered. "I recognized the thing from the blueprints he showed me. Spencer Smythe, one of my dad's employees, bit of an eccentric inventor, tried to sell me on this so-called Spider Slayer. He tried to sell me on the idea of using them to hunt you down. I had to lay some people off, and I didn't want to waste company resources on personal revenge, so I had to let him go."

"And this is his idea of a golden parachute?" Spider-Man guessed.

"He said he'd get me back. Revenge," he sighed ruefully. "I guess there was a lot of that going around at the time."

"Okay," John interrupted, "so we know who's behind this, but how do we stop him?"

"Luckily," Harry offered, "I came prepared." He stuck his hand in the pocket of his blazer and withdrew a metal disk. "It's a portable disrupter," he explained. "One of my dad's more useful inventions. When the Slayer first crashed in, John pulled me off the stage. We then rushed to my office and grabbed the equipment. The disk is magnetized, and should stick to the Slayer's hull. Spider-Man, you stick this disrupter on the thing, preferably near the head, and stand back. Once you're clear, I'll fire up this EMP broadcaster," he added, gesturing toward a nearby device the size of a car battery, "this will send an electromagnetic pulse through the disrupter, knocking out the Slayer's electronics."

"Good plan," Spider-Man said, "except that my dance partner went and brought protection. It's covered in some kind of ceramic/teflon coating. My webs won't stick to it, and I'm betting that magnets won't either."

"You have ten seconds, Wall-Crawler!" the voice shouted from the monster's speaker grille. "After that, people start dying!"

In a split second, Spider-Man made his decision. "When I say 'now'," Spider-Man intoned, snatching the disk from Harry's hand, "you do what you gotta do." The arachnid hero bounded off toward the stage to face the Slayer, leaving Harry Osborn and John Jameson to watch and wait.

"Come back alive, Peter," Harry mouthed quietly. "We have unfinished business, you and I."

* * *

"Five...four...three..." the metallic voice boomed, grating harshly against the eardrums of its captive listeners. The steel arachnid stood menacingly, its lethal arms prepared to rain fire down on the first unlucky soul that stood in its way.

"Showing off, Slayer?" A sudden shape appeared to the Slayer's left. The Slayer's body spun like a tank turret, but with lightning speed, as its right foreleg fired a blast of superheated plasma, incinerating its target.

"Nice shootin', Tex," Spider-Man leapt onto the chassis while its back was turned to him. His plan was working so far; distract the thing's sensors with a large blast of webbing, fired in a carefully controlled arc so it would land on the monster's far side, so Spider-Man could advance while it was turning away. Spinning a finer line of webbing to use as a rope, Spider-Man snagged the creature's head, long enough to jump onto its back. Once he landed on the abdomen of the giant spider, micro-fine hairs on his right hand and the soles of his feet flexed forward, digging into the ceramic surface. Not as easy as digging into brick, or even steel, but his grip held, for now.

The Slayer bucked violently, sending its captives scattering like fallen leaves for cover. "Easy there, big fella," Spider-Man drawled. "You may be spirited, but you won't buck me that easily!"

"I WILL DESTROY YOU, WALL-CRAWLER!" the Slayer screamed.

"Yeah, that's what they all say." With his free hand, Spider-Man pressed the disrupter against the surface of the monster's head, holding it steady with all his strength. "Harry!" he shouted. "I'm in position! Do it!"

"You have to jump clear!" Harry protested. "The EMP will be powerful enough to do even you damage!"

"Not as much as Widowmaker here," Spider-Man answered, as the Slayer extended a free arm behind its back to remove the unwanted rider with another plasma blast. "NOW, HARRY!"

Harry gritted his teeth and held his hand over the button of the EMP broadcaster. "Make a wish, John," he whispered, before depressing the button.

The electric charge tossed Spider-Man off the Slayer's chassis, throwing him backwards against the wall, where he fell limp as a rag doll. He lifted his head, and was relieved to see that the disrupter was having the desired effect; the creature's legs twitched and spasmed, it's head jerked back and forth, and it's electronic speakers had begun to short out. After ten seconds, the thing fell with a thud, the reddish glow of its photo-sensors fading to nothing.

Harry dialed his cell-phone, calling for a security detail to remove the dead robot and begin repairs to the lecture hall, and a medical team to tend to those injured by the Slayer's rampage. He then rushed past the metal hulk to Spider-Man's side, offering the hero a hand up. Spider-Man accepted the aid as Harry pulled him to his feet. "Can you stand?" Harry asked his one-time best friend, his voice hushed so that no one would hear the concern that tinged his words.

Spider-Man nodded, smiling underneath his mask; for the first time since his final battle with Doctor Octopus, he held hope that he might have his best friend back. "Yeah, Harry. I'm fine. But..." A stray thought had occurred to him. He lifted the hem of his glove and pulled it back far enough to glance at his watch. The second hand sat unmoving, the hour and minute hands frozen at 1:29, the exact moment that Harry Osborn fired the disrupter.

"Man," Spider-Man groaned to himself as he examined the watch that his aunt had given him on his high-school graduation. "How am I gonna explain this to Aunt May?"

* * *

_Author's note; I apologize for the delays in getting this chapter written. The Spider-Slayer turned out to be a tougher villain than I thought to write for. Who knew? I have most of the next chapter plotted so it shouldn't take nearly this long. Here's hoping, anyway._

_And yes, we finally see Harry Osborn. Next chapter, we'll see what he is up to, and how he views his relationship with Peter and MJ. Hopefully there'll be some surprises in store. And before I go, I want to thank all of you who have given me feedback, especially Jeremy Harper, Mary-Jane Watson Parker, Diablo Dude and jjonahjameson. You guys rock mightily!_

_Next up; Peter and MJ confront Harry, who demands to know what really happened on the night Norman Osborn died._


	4. Unfinished Business

**Author's note: I reposted this chapter to correct a minor continuity error I made. I just saw Spider-Man 2 again, and discovered that I made a mistake regarding Harry; it turns out that he _was _there at the chapel. Sadly for John, yet happily for Peter, MJ wasn't. I corrected one passage of this story to reflect that scene. I apologize for the inconvience.**

Chapter four   
Unfinished Business

_"Did you say everything you could?   
Do the things that you thought you would?   
Did it ever occur to you that this could be your final day?   
Did you go where you wanted to go?   
Learn about what you wanted to know?   
Did you ever really give something back instead of always taking in?_

_Did you find what you were looking for?   
Did you get your foot in the door?   
Can you look at yourself and feel proud of all the things you've done?   
Did you inspire the ones that you knew?   
Make a difference to those who knew you?   
Did you finally figure out what it is that makes us who we are today? _

_ Don't waste another day   
You never know when you'll get one   
Don't waste another day   
To do anything you haven't done." _

_ -Hoobastank   
"Did You?"_

_

* * *

_

Spencer Smythe could hear the splintering of his front door as he ducked out of the window of his dingy little waterfront loft. He knew that he had failed in his first effort to take down both Spider-Man and Harry Osborn, and that Osborn had informed the police that the Spider-Slayer was his creation. He cursed himself for making the prototype so close to the original blueprints, without any serious modifications. "Next time," he muttered to himself, "I'll shield my Spider-Slayer from outside tampering!" As he landed in an ungainly heap beneath the fire escape and began running, he fought back the urge to mentally hunt down the errors in his devices and concentrated on eluding arrest. "That is," he added, "assuming I get a next time!"

Sirens blared and howled behind him as he ran through the narrow alleyways behind his secret lab. All of his work, his prototype Slayers and their blueprints and circuit diagrams, all of his supplies, everything he had purchased with his last penny, would be impounded by the police, leaving him with nothing. He raged as he sprinted away from the pursuing officers, his anger fueling his pace. Osborn and that wall-crawler had humiliated him, and left him without even the means to avenge his defeat.

Three cops chased him on foot down the dimly-lit alleyways, until his exhausted body slammed hard against a chain-link fence that cordoned off his only avenue of escape. The cops stood at the far end of the alley, one of them hoisting a bullhorn to his mouth. "Spencer Smythe!" the bullhorn-enhanced voice thundered, grating on Spencer's ears, "we've got you trapped! There's no way out except through us! Come out with your hands up!"

Smythe's shoulders sagged as he prepared to accept his defeat. Before he could take his first step toward the waiting police officers, a white object about the size of a softball landed on the fence behind him, its plastic tail fluttering behind it like a mantle. As the object collided with the fence, it detonated almost soundlessly, radiating a brief yet intense blast of heat, enough to knock the fugitive scientist off his feet. Within seconds, a six-foot diameter section of the chain-link fence glowed white-hot before it dissolved into a molten puddle at his feet.

"This way, Doctor Smythe," an eerie voice beckoned from the blackness behind the hole. Smythe, not seeing any alternative, scrambled to his feet and ducked through the sudden escape route. The cops immediately charged after Smythe, only to hear a small explosion ahead, as gray clouds of acrid smoke billowed from the hole, filling the alley with noxious tear-gas vapors, enough to incapacitate the unprepared officers.

Smythe ducked past another alley, as the guiding voice called to him again in whispering tones; "Smythe, if you value your freedom, make your way to the subway station two blocks west of here. Do you know where that is?"

"I-I know," Smythe stammered, scanning the darkened surroundings in a vain attempt to identify the speaker. All he saw was blackness. "I know where it is."

"Good," the voice continued. "Buy a ticket, it doesn't matter which route; once you're at the north-bound platform, make your way to the left-most end of the platform, until you find a door marked 'Authorized Personnel Only'. Knock three times, wait a beat, then knock four times. I will meet you then."

"B-but who..who are you?" Smythe asked, his terror rising in his throat like acid.

"I'm your new best friend, Spencer Smythe," the voice replied. "The rest, I will explain to you when we meet again. Now go, you're too exposed here."

"Wait a minute," Smythe demanded feebly. "Why should I—that is, what reason do you have—" He fell silent as he sensed that his mysterious rescuer was no longer around. He stood on uncertain feet for ten seconds, before he heard the wail of another police siren. Before they could find him, he fled quickly, making his way toward the subway entrance.

"This had better be worth it…" he muttered under his breath as he purchased a ticket.

* * *

Peter Parker sat pensively in the sparsely decorated office. It wasn't quite as large as he expected, but it was certainly three times the size of Robbie Robertson's office at the Bugle building. _Heck_, he thought to himself,_ it's three times the size of my apartment! _

Mary Jane sat in the chair next to his, watching with a semi-detached amusement as her fiancé squirmed. "You look like you're ready for a blindfold and a cigarette," she quipped. Peter winced, prompting MJ's smile to fade slightly. "You're really scared, aren't you?"

Peter's shoulders sagged under an unseen weight, and MJ regarded her fiancé with compassionate eyes. "He's not going to do anything, Peter. Not with me as a witness anyway." She reached across to him, stroking the back of his hand with the tips of her fingers. "It's going to be okay, Tiger."

Peter glanced around the office space once more, seeking out that familiar tell-tale tingle down the back of his neck. No spider-sense so far, he reasoned. But somehow that didn't put him at ease. "I hope so," Peter whispered tensely, wishing he was as confident as MJ sounded. "Y'know," he added, feigning lightness in his voice, "John's probably still on the compound. If you wanted to catch up with him, I'd understand…"

"Don't even joke about that, Peter," MJ shot back suddenly. "I made my decision, and I'm not looking back. I love you, Peter. I need you in my life. Whatever happens, we're facing it together. You got that?"

Peter caught MJ's determined stare and smiled as he lost himself in her turquoise eyes. "Together," he repeated, his word a whispered vow. MJ nodded solemnly in reply.

Seventeen seconds later, Harry Osborn rushed into the office, flustered and somewhat out of breath. "Peter, MJ, I'm glad you agreed to meet me here," he announced hurriedly. "Pardon me for a moment while I take care of some business." Without another word, he stood behind his desk and jabbed at the intercom button. "Liz," he paged his secretary. "Please contact Adrian Toombs and inform him that I have no interest in his so-called magnetic flight harness at this time, and schedule an appointment with Dr. Curt Conners for tomorrow noon. Tell him that I wish to pursue his cellular regeneration project; from the literature he presented me, it looks like something that Oscorp would do well to get behind. And hold all my calls for the next hour or so. Unless it's George W. Bush, I'm not here."

"Yes, sir," Liz's voice chirped from the intercom speaker. Harry shut off the intercom and opened a mini-fridge behind his desk. "Would you guys care for a drink? Nothing alcoholic, I've recently made friends with Bill W. I have some Evian, root beer, Red Bull…"

"I'd like some Evian, please," MJ said. Harry pulled out a small plastic bottle and poured the contents into a crystal hi-ball glass which he then handed to MJ. She accepted the glass, nodding a thank-you. "And you, Peter?" he offered.

"No thanks," Peter answered politely.

"Suit yourself," Harry nodded as he opened a Red Bull and took a swig straight out of the can. He walked around his desk and stood directly before his one-time best friend and former girlfriend. "I apologize for my brusque entrance, but I knew that today would be hectic, with the symposium and my little bombshell regarding the Ad Astra program. And MJ, I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to touch bases with you since your, uh, almost-wedding. Ad Astra, I'm afraid, has taken up most of my time for the last few months. On the plus side, thanks to my announcements today, Oscorp stock made its first substantial gain on the NYSE since the debacle with Dr. Octavius last year. Anyway, now that I've completed or delegated my business for today, we can finally catch up. So," he turned toward Peter, "you doing okay since we last saw each other?"

Peter swallowed nervously, uncertain quite what to say to Harry; was he still his best friend or his worst enemy? He simply didn't know anymore. MJ saw the tension in Peter's brow and decided to speak her mind. "Peter didn't kill your father, Harry," she announced.

Peter and Harry turned suddenly toward MJ as she regarded the CEO of Oscorp with defiant eyes. "Yes, Harry, I know who Peter is, and what he is. What he is, is the finest, bravest man I've ever known, and the man with whom I'm going to spend the rest of my life. No matter what you believe, he is not a killer."

The only sound heard for the next five seconds was the ticking of an antique Westminster clock on the bookcase behind Harry's desk. Peter was startled by MJ's declaration, but inwardly proud that she would openly defend him to the son of his enemy.

Harry regarded MJ with a bemused expression before finally speaking; "And so the ice is hereby broken." He chuckled ruefully as he scanned the two. "So you two finally got together huh? Let me guess, you found out about Peter being Spider-Man after he rescued you from Octavius?"

"During, actually," MJ admitted. "Although I had suspected something for awhile."

"That would explain why you did the hundred-yard-dash across Central Park in full veil and gown," Harry nodded. "I just wonder what took you so long to tell her, Peter."

"I tried to warn her away," Peter answered, an edge of anger in his words. "I didn't want another Octopus or Goblin threatening her because of me. I still don't. So whatever beef you have with me, Harry, leave her out of it or as God is my witness I'll make you regret it!"

Harry turned toward Peter, genuinely surprised by the vehemence of his outburst. Sighing deeply, Harry returned to his desk and reached for his computer mouse. With a deft movement of his mouse he brought his computer out of sleep mode. "Peter, MJ, I want to show the two of you something," he spoke as he pulled down some files on the computer screen. He located the proper screen from the heavily encrypted file that his father had set up, typing in the appropriate password (_arachnid_, Harry sighed sadly as he typed), and waited for the program to kick in. After a few seconds, an image appeared on the flat-screen monitor. Harry took the monitor in his hands and slowly rotated it, showing the screen to Peter and MJ.

Peter's eyes widened and MJ gasped as they recognized the image on the screen; a schematic drawing for a small glider-craft, a bat-winged rocket-powered device. The Goblin Glider.

"My father, as the two of you are no doubt aware," Harry intoned, "was the Green Goblin. I made this little discovery shortly after I found out that you were Spider-Man. In fact, I know the locations of my father's weapons caches throughout the city. The largest of which currently exists in a sub-basement of the Oscorp Building, about three-hundred meters below this office." He turned the monitor back and left the mouse idle on his desk. "As you can understand, this isn't the kind of discovery that just goes away. It's not like I found my dad's secret stash of Playboy magazines. I had a lot to think about in the last six months since I first found his arsenal. And at first, I even entertained, for all of ten seconds, the prospect of putting on my father's armor, mounting his glider and striking back at the man whom I saw standing over his dead body." He slumped in his father's leather-upholstered office chair, his eyes downcast and ashamed. "I even tried his glider out for size on one of Oscorp's testing areas. An amazing machine, Peter. Goes from 0 to 100 in seconds, maneuvers like a dream, fuel efficient, stable, its controls are almost instinctive. And Dad wasted that groundbreaking technology on vengeance and terror. So you'll understand if I'm hesitant to follow in his footsteps."

Peter sat silently as Harry spoke, his mind feverishly trying to process his words. This wasn't what he expected when Harry asked to talk with him. "What are you saying, Harry?"

"I'm saying that I want our feud to be over, Peter," Harry's voice sounded penitent, almost pleading. "I want to know the truth. I want to know why my father and my best friend became bitter enemies. I want to know why the man whose respect I had spent my life trying to earn tried to kill a woman I once loved!" MJ shuddered briefly, grim memories of her fall from the Queensboro Bridge intruding on her psyche at Harry's words. Peter sensed her unease and gently took her hand in his, stroking the back of her hand gently, calming her anxieties.

"I know how Dad changed, and when," Harry continued. "He left detailed notes of his bio-enhancement experiments, a diary detailing what he had done to himself and when. And of course there are the news reports of the Goblin's actions. I also have some idea when you were changed, Peter. It was that field trip, wasn't it? You were bitten by Dad's genetically altered 'super-spider'."

"That's when it began," Peter admitted. "I felt dizzy from the bite, and then things started to happen to me. When I woke up the next morning, I put on my glasses, only to find that my vision was blurring. When I took them off, I could see clearly. And then when I looked in the mirror, I discovered that I suddenly had a fairly prominent six-pack. I discovered the other changes over time, the agility, the webs, the spider-sense—"

"Excuse me," Harry asked, "spider-sense?"

"Oh, yeah, that's not exactly public knowledge, I guess," Peter admitted. "It's kind of like a second-sight thing. Can't quite explain how it works, but I can sense when someone is going to attack, or when something dangerous is about to happen."

"Which explains why you and MJ ducked out just before Smythe's Spider-Slayer broke into the auditorium," Harry nodded. "Understood. I guess what I want to know is how you could survive the changes you went through and still remain Peter, while my dad turned into a monster. I need to know…" he swallowed hard, reining in the emotion that threatened to overtake his voice. "I need to know why you became Spider-Man."

Harry's eyes bored into Peter's soul. Peter held his head low, unable to bear the weight of his friend's scrutiny. Finally he spoke in a sad voice, "I'm warning you, Harry. It isn't a happy story."

"So what are you now, Lemony Snickett?" Harry smirked slightly. "Please, Peter, I just want to understand. Why did you become a hero? You could have become a celebrity, a stunt-performer, something like that."

"Because the one time I tried that, someone died!" Peter shot back angrily. MJ kept her eyes glued to Peter, her hand still clasped in his. "It's okay, Peter. You can tell him." Peter felt that familiar warmth radiating from MJ's eyes, the calm gaze that accepted without judgment, that gave without condition. Once again her words from six months ago came unbidden to his thoughts; "Isn't it time somebody saved your life?" Peter and MJ exchanged brief smiles before he began.

"All I wanted was to impress MJ," he started flatly, his voice controlled. "When I first discovered my abilities, I tried to change, to stop being the class joke and actually get noticed. That's why I ended up fighting Flash in the hallway. Anyway, one night, I was taking out the trash, and I saw MJ next door. We got to talking…" He smiled briefly, remembering the first time he really spent any time with Mary Jane Watson. Glancing at his fiancée, he added, "It was the first time you ever called me 'Tiger'."

MJ blushed slightly. "And you became the first person to assure me that I could make it on Broadway," she replied.

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "Then she piled into Flash Thompson's car with her friends. I decided that, if I wanted her to notice me, I needed the wheels. Which of course meant I needed the money. So I went through the want-ads, and noticed one for some underground fight-club that offered three large if I could stay in the ring with their top fighter for three minutes."

"And so you went to this fight-club for a quick buck," Harry reasoned. "Just out of curiosity, how'd you do?"

Peter smiled ruefully, "I kicked his butt." The smile faded instantly. "The club manager shorted me, we exchanged curses, then as I was heading out, a gunman charged in, demanding all the money in the till. As the gunman made off with the money, I just stood there, holding the door open for him. I just let him get away. Why not? The manager gave me the shaft, why should I help him, right?" He swallowed hard, and MJ's eyes watered as she listened to his story. He had told her before about that terrible night, and she knew what had happened next.

Peter blinked away a tear as he continued; "I was headed back home when I heard a police siren, and saw a crowd gathering around a police car. I rushed over to see what was up…" He squinted slightly, and Harry could see the unshed tears forming under his lids. "It was Ben…Uncle Ben, he was just lying there…"

"The carjacking," Harry nodded knowingly. "Peter, you didn't have anything to do with your uncle's murder."

"That's what you think," Peter raised his voice sharply. "Don't you get the punchline? I followed the police cars that were chasing the carjacker. They had him holed up in an old condemned building, so I dropped in and kicked the dogsnot out of him…then I saw his face for the first time…it was him, Harry. The same guy who held up the fight-club…" He inhaled deeply, almost gasping, as MJ leaned across the armrest of her chair to gently embrace Peter. Peter accepted her embrace gratefully, clinging to her arms like a lifeline.

Finally his breathing calmed down and he slowly let go of the embrace. "I'm okay, MJ, thanks," Peter assured the red-haired angel who consoled him. "But you see it now, don't you, Harry? Uncle Ben used to say that great power came with great responsibility. And I shirked my responsibility, and Uncle Ben paid for it. After we graduated, I thought back to what he said, and promised myself—and Ben—that I'd never forget that responsibility. That's why I became Spider-Man. Because it's the only way I can think of to use my powers to help others. What happened to Uncle Ben won't happen again. Not on my watch."

Harry weighed and sifted through Peter's words, listened to the timbre of his voice, the emotion behind his story. "I always knew that you were a decent man," Harry spoke silently, "and a bit of a hopeless romantic. And anyone that old coot J. Jonah hated that much must have something good going for him. But you must understand. I saw you standing over my father's body, naturally I'm gonna jump to the obvious conclusion. So right now, I just have one thing I need to know, Peter. You were there when my father died, weren't you?"

Peter regarded Harry, the seeming earnestness of his plea. He concentrated on his surroundings for a split-second. Nothing in Harry or his office triggered Peter's spider-senses. For a brief moment Peter felt strangely elated. He realized that his friendship with Harry was indeed salvageable, but so much depended on the next few moments. He decided to trust himself, and his friend. "Yes," he answered simply.

"How did he die?" The question forced itself out of Harry's mouth with the suddenness of a gunshot. Harry's eyes were pleading with him, gleaming with a desperate passion. He needed to know this.

And Peter needed to tell him. "That night," Peter began, reining in his voice again as he relived the most terrifying night of his life, "the Goblin had taken Mary Jane. Norman had deduced that I was Spider-Man, after he saw me bleeding from a wound that the Goblin had given me just moments before. 'Course, I didn't know that Norman was the Goblin at the time..."

"Thanksgiving?" Harry asked suddenly. "I thought he was acting weird then. Ohmigod," he breathed as realization slammed hard into he. "May…when she was in the hospital…"

Peter nodded darkly. "Goblin. He struck at me through the ones I loved. He had attacked Aunt May, then while I was in the hospital visiting her, she commented on how she could tell that I still loved MJ. She said that anyone could see it. I realized that if Aunt May could see it, then so could Goblin. I called MJ immediately, to make sure she was okay. I got her answering machine, I started to leave a message, and then I heard his voice, taunting me. 'Can Spider-Man come out to play?' Man, I still get chills thinking about that voice."

MJ suddenly paled as Peter recited the Green Goblin's message. The same message someone had given her on the phone last week. She shook her head, attempting to dispel the dread that was now sitting in her stomach like a lead weight. She hadn't received any other crank calls, it was a one-time deal. It had to be. Right?

"He told me to meet him at Queensboro Bridge," Peter continued. "There, he had arranged a little dilemma for me. He had grabbed MJ by one hand, and a gondola car full of tourists in the other. He planned to drop them both, on opposite sides of the bridge, thinking I could save only one of them." Peter made a wry face. "He forgot his basic physics; all I had to do was swing from the bridge, grab MJ, and let my momentum take me to the other side of the bridge to grab the cable car. My arms were sore for a week after, but it worked."

"I remember," MJ agreed. "You had me climb down the cable, and then you lowered it to a waiting Coast Guard boat, while Goblin was throwing grenades at you, until everyone on the bridge started throwing stuff at him."

"I guess New Yorkers know a hero when they see one," Harry observed. "So you managed to save MJ and the gondola car. Then what?"

"Well, then I followed the Goblin to an abandoned building, and we proceeded to beat the crap out of each other. I won't lie to you, Harry. I wanted him dead. After all he had done to Aunt May, to MJ, I wanted to rip that grinning goblin head off of his neck. But finally he backed down. He took off his mask, and that's when I discovered that Norman Osborn was the Goblin. I was shocked, Harry, believe me. Kind of took the fight out of me there also. I still wanted to see him stand trial for his actions, though. He started talking to me, telling me how he thought of me as the son he never had—I'm sorry, Harry."

"No, that's all right," Harry answered. "I know he was sometimes disappointed in me. I'm not my father, I've learned to accept that."

"That's good, Harry," Peter said, "healthier at least. Anyway, he was still trying to talk to me, to plead with me to join him. I refused. Then my spider-sense went off the meter and I instinctively dodged out of the way. Turns out he had remotely programmed his glider to ram into me. I dodged, Norman didn't. If I had known what he was up to, I would have tried to pull him out of the way. I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry listened to Peter's story, separating and examining each word for veracity. Finally he returned his gaze directly to Peter. "So the Goblin tried to take you down, and instead ended up the victim of his own weapon."

Peter nodded sadly. "His last words were, 'Don't tell Harry'. So I took his body out of the armor, and returned it to the mansion. That's where you found me, and the rest you know."

Harry looked at his two closest friends again, seeing the natural closeness between them as MJ gently placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, somehow alleviating the terrible burden of his soul with her touch. "It's like two different people," Harry finally said. "My father, a distant but ultimately caring man who, for all his faults, tried to do right by me; and the Green Goblin, the monster who murdered for sport and tried to kill my two closest friends." Harry shook his head sadly, but slowly lifted his head as he spoke. "No, Peter. You didn't kill my father. The Green Goblin did." Harry turned away from his friends, his head lowered, shoulders sagging. As though he carried the burden of his father's crimes.

"Hey, you okay?" Peter lifted himself out of his chair and approached Harry. He considered placing a caring hand on Harry's shoulder but feared that the gesture would be unwelcome. If anyone knew what it was to carry the weight of a loved ones death, it was Peter. He stood pensively behind Harry, tensing for what would happen next.

"I miss you, man," Harry gasped suddenly, his voice thick with emotion and his shoulders jerking slightly with a deep sob. "I miss the guy who tutored me in science classes, the guy who used to joke with me on the back of the bus... that is, when he was able to catch the bus..." The way Harry's head was shaking, Peter wasn't certain that Harry was chuckling or crying. "I remember how you used to be so tongue-tied around MJ, how you'd just stand there and watch her from afar...and I wasted two years of my life hating you for defending Spider-Man, for still wanting the woman I once loved...for being the son my father wanted..." He began to cry in earnest, and Peter immediately wrapped his arms around his friend, hugging him fiercely, letting Harry's tears fall openly. Mary Jane stood up and approached the two men, gently touching Harry's back. When she felt no resistance, she joined her fiancée and her friend in a group hug.

"I'm sorry too, Harry," Peter assured his longtime friend. "I'm sorry that I wasn't that good a friend to you. It's gonna be okay now. It's gonna be okay..."

"We're both guilty on that score," MJ added. "I was too busy trying to start a new life, to distance myself from that year. Maybe that's why I ended up with John, because I thought the guy I really wanted wasn't interested." Peter groaned inwardly at her statement, recalling how close he had come to losing her forever. "But that's all over now," MJ continued. "I'm not letting you down again, Harry."

"Same here," Peter promised. "You were the best thing that happened to me in high school, I'm not about to forget about it now."

Harry's tears slowly ebbed under the sheer weight of his friends' compassion. He gasped twice, willing his breath to steady, until he could speak more coherently. "Thanks guys," he exhaled deeply, his body slowly relaxing, as Peter and Mary Jane slowly backed away from the impromptu embrace the three of them shared. "I guess I must have been carrying that around for too long. I really needed to let it out, huh?"

"Don't sweat it, Har," Peter answered. "I missed you too. I missed my friend."

"Me too," MJ added. "And if you need to vent, you call us. Anytime, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," Harry chuckled slightly, a silent, healing laughter in his words.

"Welcome back, Harry," Peter smiled, himself feeling a great weight lift from his shoulders. He had dreaded this day, the inevitable confrontation with the son of the Green Goblin. The realization that his one-time friend wished to hand him an olive branch came as an immense relief. He expected Harry to declare himself Spider-Man's new enemy, and he ended up regaining his best friend.

Finally, having collected himself and calmed his emotions, Harry turned his attention toward Peter and Mary Jane. "Now then," he addressed his former girlfriend, "I couldn't help but notice the rock on your finger. Did Peter finally get his head out of his spider-hole and pop the question?"

Mary Jane smiled happily, lifting her left hand to display her engagement ring. "Let's put it to you this way," Peter added, taking MJ's hand in his own, "how'd you like to be my best man?"

"Name the date, Peter," Harry announced, "I'm there!" Harry rushed toward Peter, wrapping his arm around Peter in another bear-hug, slapping his back heartily. He then broke away from Peter to embrace Mary Jane, lifting her off of the floor. "Congratulations, you two!"

"Thanks, Harry," MJ breathed happily. "And I'm sorry about us."

"Don't be," Harry smiled, leaning back from the hug. "Things turned out the way they were meant to." Harry let go of MJ with only a faint reluctance, and leaned backward, resting on his desk. "So, what's next for you two? You start apartment hunting yet?"

"We're looking at a few ads in the Times," MJ answered. "Nothing serious yet."

"What we need is something with enough space for a small family," Peter added. "Knowing Aunt May, once we're married, she'll be on us to 'be fruitful and multiply', so we're looking for at least one spare bedroom. I just hope we can find something we can both afford."

"Well, you won't find it in the Times, Petey," Harry grinned. "First Unspoken Rule of living in New York; There will always be more people who want to live in New York than there are available places to live." He stood up and walked behind his desk, adding, "Of course the Second Unspoken Rule of New York is, there's always a loophole for every unspoken rule." He rummaged through a desk drawer for a second, before producing a small card. "Here," he announced, presenting the card to Peter with a slight flourish. "Donahue and Donahue, they're a real-estate firm owned by Oscorp. You show them that card, they'll know that you're a friend of mine."

Peter held the textured linen-paper card for a second. "Hadn't really thought about owning a place," he admitted. "Considering my financial status currently, I'm lucky to be renting."

"Hey," Mary Jane slapped Peter's arm lightly. "I'll be making a fair amount once 'When Harry Met Sally' opens, I'll be able to help foot the bill there."

"When Harry Met Sally?" Harry asked. "As in the movie?"

"That's my new play," she explained to Harry. "It's a production based on the movie. I'm Sally."

"I can see it," Harry nodded silently, understanding. "Anyway, Donahue and Donahue has a number of lease properties available. Could probably get you a better rate than you're currently paying for that hole in the wall you're living in now."

"Really?" Peter's eyebrows shot up at the prospect of being rid of Mr. Ditkovitch. _Not to mention Ursula,_ he thought but did not say as he glanced back in Mary Jane's direction. He had been aware of his landlord's daughter and her undisguised crush on him. He didn't look forward to explaining Ursula's obvious affections to Mary Jane "What do you say, MJ," he asked. "Should we call them next week?"

"Sounds like a plan," she announced, smiling. "Thanks, Harry."

"Hey, consider it an early wedding gift."

The three friends laughed and chatted happily for the rest of the hour, before Peter glanced at the clock. "Hey," he announced. "I have to send the photos I took of the symposium and the Spider-Slayer back to the Bugle before the put tonight's edition to bed. Hate to cut this short, but..."

"Don't worry about it," Harry nodded. "Go, face the wrath of J. Jonah Jameson."

"Actually, Robbie Robertson's sitting in the editor's chair these days," Peter corrected him. "But still, I have to get down there before five."

"Thanks for having us over," Mary Jane added. "We needed this talk."

"You're so right," Harry agreed. "You two take care. And if you need anything, and I mean _anything_, you call me, right?"

"We will," Peter said as he helped Mary Jane with her jacket. "And that goes both ways, y'know."

"Thanks, Peter," Harry answered as he escorted his two best friends to the office door.

Goodbyes were exchanged and Peter and Mary Jane left Harry's office. Harry closed the door and leaned against it, the emotions of the last hour slowly draining out of him. For the first time in over six months he felt comfortable in his own skin. His company was slowly shrugging off the negative press of the Dr. Octavius incident, and he had rebuilt the bridge with his best friend. He smiled, for once looking forward to tomorrow.

_You shame me!_ That all-too familiar voice echoed from the recesses of his id. _Shaking hands with the enemy! _

"Peter is not the enemy," Harry whispered into the emptiness of his office, his voice small but slowly building in conviction. "He did not kill my father, you did.

_I am your father!   
_

"No, I finally see it," Harry chuckled mirthlessly. "You're not Norman Osborn. You're the Goblin. The curse of my family. You killed my father, just like you're trying to kill me. I've figured it out." He sat back behind his desk and tapped the 'return' key on his computer keyboard. The computer clicked to life from sleep-mode as Harry summoned a server window, typing in a file name he had committed to memory.

It became so clear to him during his conversation with Peter. Norman Osborn was the ego, and the Goblin was the id, the darkness in his psyche. His father's experiments in cellular augmentation somehow unleashed his id, strengthening it until the Goblin dominated his father.

Harry smiled as he began the arduous task of sifting through Norman Osborn's notes regarding the long-abandoned 'super-spider' experiments.

"The Goblin destroyed my father," Harry vowed to himself as he began reading the notes. "I won't let the Spider destroy Peter."

* * *

_Three knocks,_ Spencer reminded himself when he reached the door that his unknown benefactor directed him to, _then four knocks_. He knocked accordingly and waited. 

The door opened, and a hoarse whisper said, "In here, Smythe." Spencer, not seeing any options, followed the beckoning voice, shutting the door behind him.

The burly man who opened the door nodded curtly toward the disgraced inventor. "The name's Gargan," he introduced himself. "But some people call me the Scorpion. The boss is waiting for you. This way." He led Smythe down a narrow passageway, and the hapless scientist followed meekly. The dimly-lit concrete corridor was studded with pipes, electrical lines and outlets, and Smythe was afraid to touch anything on either side of him, for fear of electrocution. Gargan took several turns in the winding corridor, leading to narrower passages, some of which Smythe doubted that the city council even knew about.

Finally, Gargan's path led to a skinny door, which Smythe managed to squeeze through barely. The door led to a larger empty chamber, about the size of a small auditorium, lit by a network of scattered shop lamps clamped to ceiling beams. "Welcome, Spencer Smythe." Smythe tried to pinpoint the exact location of that eerie voice, and he noticed a speaker mounted on the wall in front of him, next to a surveillance camera. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. I trust that Gargan treated you well."

"I-I'm fine," Smythe stammered, glancing nervously around the chamber. He was somewhat reminded of 'The Wizard of Oz' and absently wondered where the man behind the curtain was. "Although I'd feel better if you'd come out here to face me."

"Don't you trust me?" the voice boomed out of the speaker.

"It's not that," Smythe answered, "I just want to meet the man who saved me from the cops."

"Fair enough," the voice grumbled. A few seconds later, and Spencer noticed a door sliding open from the opposite side of the chamber. The scream of a jet engine filled the chamber as a shadowy figure sped toward Smythe from the wide doorway, standing with the grace and control of an equestrian as he stood astride a bat-winged glider. The figure streaked directly toward Spencer, who jumped back, hoping to dodge the bizarre missile that threatened to mow him down.

The glider-craft stopped suddenly, less than a foot away from the startled scientist, who nearly fainted from relief. Smythe then took his first long look at his new employer; his face obscured by the pale yellow half-mask that poked out of the dirty tan hood, with greasepaint make-up in the same shade of yellow covering his mouth and jaw. His arms and legs appeared to be covered in a mixture of metal gauntlets and grieves with some modern form of chain mail over the rest of him, all painted a strange muted green.

A sudden flash of recognition hit Smythe hard. "You're that guy who Spider-Man fought years ago, aren't you? The Green Goblin!"

The half-mask grinned a devil's grin, his eyes glowing an unearthly green. "Goblin, yes," he corrected Smythe, "green, no."

"I don't understand," Smythe stated timidly. "Why wait for so long to come back? And why work with Gargan and me? That doesn't seem consistent with your earlier activities."

"Let's get some things clear, Smythe," the ghoul-faced figure barked sharply at the scientist, extending his forefinger. "First, I'm not the same clown who terrorized New York two years ago. As for my consistency..." The Goblin pursed his lips in thought. His next words echoed darkly throughout the chamber:

"As Thoreau observed, a foolish consistency is the Hobgoblin of small minds..."

TBC...


	5. Occam's Razor

_Author's note; I'm back, baby! I apologize for the long wait between chapters, but I was waylaid by a band of mutants over at Westchester County, hence a number of X-related stories. Hopefully chapter 6 won't be so long in the making. Thanks for the feedback. It's chicken soup for my ego._

_And yes, I know that the first part of this song translates as 'One, two, three, fourteen'. Take it up with Bono, he wrote the fakakta thing! _

Chapter five

Occam's Razor

_"Uno, _

_Dos, _

_Tres... _

_Catorce!_

_Lights_

_Go down_

_It's dark_

_The jungle is your head-- _

_Can't rule _

_Your heart _

_I'm feeling so much stronger than before _

_Your eyes are wide _

_And though your soul it can't be bought _

_Your mind can wonder _

Hello, hello... (Hola)

_I'm at a place called Vertigo (¿Dónde estás?) _

_It's everything I wish I didn't know _

_Except you give me something--_

_I can feel-- _

_Feel--" _

_--U2 _

_"Vertigo" _

Patches of sunlight spiked through the slowly growing blanket of high clouds that heralded Autumn in New York as Peter escorted Mary Jane and his aunt May to the cozy sidewalk cafe that Mary Jane had recommended for their Saturday afternoon date. More sweaters and jackets were being worn by pedestrians as the days grew shorter and the nights began earlier. Even May Parker, who normally would have been comfortable in a short-sleeved blouse and blue jeans, was sporting a beige cable-knit cardigan to ward off the mid-September chill. As they relaxed at their table overlooking Rockefeller Center, Peter reflected that there wouldn't be many more days of this sort of outdoor lunch this year. Looking over the plaza, he realized that soon the plaza would be set up for skating, while the annual Christmas Tree would shine with its thousands of lights. _Christmas, _he realized. _Hopefully I'll have saved up enough in the next couple of months for gift shopping. Assuming Mr. Ditkovitch doesn't have any surprise rent-hikes in the works. _As the waiter brought their sandwiches, he resolved to not worry about the immediate future, but to simply enjoy this afternoon with his two favorite women. Life was going well for him now, he had no desire to question his good fortune. 

"...And the moment you first stepped out of the car, Mary Jane," May smiled as she related her first memory of their red-haired neighbor, who was now sitting across from her, "Peter started tugging at my dress, asking, 'Aunt May, is that an angel?'"

MJ laughed happily between nibbles of her Tuscan chicken salad. "You really said that, Peter?" she dimpled prettily as Peter blushed beet-red, eliciting an amused smirk from his aunt.

A mortally-embarrassed Peter tried to hide his face behind his Reuben sandwich. "I was six years old!" he protested with little conviction.

"Well, I still think it was adorable," May nodded, a sly smile on her face. Mary Jane took some sympathy on her boyfriend and gently patted his hand.

Peter turned his attention to his aunt in a desperate bid to change the subject. "So, Aunt May, how's the new apartment coming along?"

"Oh, quite nicely, thanks for asking," May answered between bites of her linguini carbonara. "It took me a while to get used to the new place but the neighbors have been very friendly. I've made quite a few new friends there. In fact they invited me to join them on a motor tour of the state."

"Really!" Peter raised his voice a trifle in genuine surprise.

"Oh yes, we're planning on renting a bus, perhaps a trailer, and spending a week next summer taking in the sights." Peter arched an eyebrow at this news; as glad as he was that his aunt was becoming more active, especially after Ben's murder, he somehow hadn't expected to see her living like a gypsy. The mental image made him smile.

"Uh, Peter..." MJ nudged him slightly, whispering sotto voce in his ear.

"Oh, yeah," Peter gasped, remembering the real reason he and MJ brought her to lunch. "Actually, Aunt May, we were hoping you'd have a weekend free next summer. Uh, late June, right, MJ?"

May began eyeing her nephew suspiciously, as a faint hope dared to grow in her heart. "What are you two planning?"

"Oh, nothing much," MJ feigned innocence as she extended her left hand, showing off a diamond solitaire engagement ring. "Just a wedding..."

May gaped like a fish at the sight of her long-departed sister-in-law's engagement ring on Mary Jane's finger. "Wha...how did this happen?"

"I asked, she said yes," Peter positively beamed as he finally said the words he had longed to say for so many years. "Mary Jane and I are getting married!" To punctuate this announcement, MJ leaned toward her fiancée and kissed him gently on the cheek, happily draping her arm around his shoulder.

After a moment's shock, May's lips turned upward in an enormous and welcoming smile. "Why, that's wonderful!" She reached around the table to embrace both her nephew and future niece. "Congratulations, the two of you! I'm so happy for you. Of course I'll make plans to be there. Welcome to the family, Mary Jane!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Parker--" Mary Jane began, only to be silenced by a curt wave of May's hand. "Please," she corrected Mary Jane in a stern but loving voice, "it's 'Aunt May'!"

"Okay," MJ laughed, "Aunt May. And thanks again."

May, true to Peter's prediction a few days earlier, launched into a flurry of questions; "So, have you two made any plans? Arrangements with a chapel, anything like that?"

Before Peter and Mary Jane could assist Aunt May in officially launching their wedding plans, a waiter slid up to the table, balancing a large bottle on a silver tray in his hand. "Pardon me, but is this the Parker table?" he asked.

Peter nodded happily, "Yes it is."

"For you, Mr. Parker." The waiter thrust the bottle into Peter's hand, his smile the smile of a man anticipating a large tip. "With congratulations on your impending nuptials."

Peter held the bottle and read the label. Dom Perignon. Mary Jane gasped when she recognized the label. "Peter," she breathed, "That's not any ordinary grape juice. That stuff goes for at least a hundred bucks a bottle!"

"Two hundred, actually," the waiter informed them. "That bottle is an exceptionally fine vintage." The waiter's appraisal nearly caused Peter to drop the bottle; only reflexes heightened by the mutagenic effects of his spider-bite allowed him to avoid breaking the bottle over the concrete floor.

"There must be some mistake," Peter nervously tried to push the bottle back to the waiter. "We didn't order any champagne."

The waiter shook his head, his unflappable smile still gracing his face. "No charge, sir. The gentleman told me that he had heard you announce your engagement, and sent this bottle to your table, with his complements."

"Well, that's nice, huh?" Peter glared skeptically at the bottle.

"Did he say who he was?" Aunt May asked gently.

"No, sir, he wished to remain anonymous," the waiter shrugged. "I'll be by with the check, sir."

As the waiter left the table, Peter and his lunch companions found themselves staring at the bottle of Dom Perignon, puzzling over their unknown benefactor. Peter and MJ glanced briefly at each other, then at May, who simply chuckled. "Don't look at me, dears, I don't know anyone wealthy enough to spend two hundred on a bottle of champagne."

MJ suddenly grinned, turning back toward Peter. "But we do, right?"

Peter's eyes widened when he followed MJ's train of thought. "Harry? You think he sent us the champagne? His idea of an engagement gift?"

"Maybe we could ask him later?" MJ suggested.

"Wha, and embarrass him?" Peter countered, laughing slightly.

"I think there's a card on the bottle, Peter," May suggested. Peter glanced at the foil around the cork, and first noticed the silvery elastic cord that held a small hand-milled paper card to the bottle.

"Must have missed that, Aunt May," Peter grinned sheepishly. "Okay, let's check it out." Peter slipped the elastic off the bottle and opened the card. The card, printed on an ink-jet printer in a clean san-serif font, contained a single line of text:

_"Can Spider-Man come out and play?"_

"Get down," he whispered tersely.

MJ's eyes fixed onto Peter's forehead, observing the knotting of veins between his eyes. "What, what does it say?"

"GET DOWN! BOTH OF YOU, NOW!" Peter shouted, the words exploding from his throat with a force that shocked May. MJ, knowing that voice, gently placed her hand on May's arm, leading her away from the table as Peter vaulted the sidewalk railing and bolted away from the café.

Clutching the bottle in his hand, he rushed pell-mell down the sidewalk, dodging pedestrians right and left. Two teen-age girls scowled at the rude young man who almost knocked them down in his mad rush down the sidewalk. His eyes darted around the street until he located an alleyway. Surreptitiously stealing glances left and right, he produced a strand of webbing and tied it to the bottle. He kicked off his shoes and began to scale the grimy alley wall, the other end of the web strand clutched in his hand.

Thankfully there wasn't anyone to see him employing his natural ability to stick to walls as he rapidly ascended the wall. Reaching the top ledge of the building, he started swinging the bottle over his head like a bolo. After three widening arcs, he released the webbing when the bottle was on an upward swing. He released the breath he was holding as he watched the bottle's trajectory, shooting upward away from any people or structures, before exploding at about a hundred feet above the tops of the nearby buildings. Shards of glass rained over the immediate area, as startled New Yorkers on the street below gasped and looked around, wondering what happened.

As Peter watched the last gray whiffs of smoke from the exploding bottle being pulled away in the fall breeze, he thought he could hear a faint roar of a jet engine. Craning his head around, he saw a faint silhouette of a vaguely humanoid figure, perched on a v-shaped wing. As the glider-shape grew smaller in the horizon, Peter could swear he heard a chilling cackle.

"Harry," he breathed. "Damn you."

When the explosion rattled the windows, MJ and May craned their heads toward the sound along with the rest of the patrons at the café. "Peter," May gasped. "He ran toward that explosion! Could he have…"

"He's fine, Aunt May," MJ assured her, "he'll be okay." Inwardly, she found herself wishing that she was as confident as she sounded. _He'll be fine,_ she reminded herself mentally. _After all, he's Spider-Man._

Five minutes later, MJ caught sight of Peter running toward the café. "MJ! Aunt May!" he shouted as he approached them. The two women stood up and approached the railing where Peter met them, gasping for breath. "You two okay?"

"I've been worse," May admitted sternly. "But what about you? You were closer to that explosion than we were. What happened?"

"I dunno, Aunt May," Peter stammered, secretly catching MJ's eye. The red-head nodded, silently agreeing to back whatever story Peter came up with. "I saw that explosion too, but it was high in the air, nowhere near any buildings. Looks like no one was hurt."

"That's a relief," May nodded. "But why did you suddenly run off like that anyway? And what happened to that champagne bottle?"

"Oh, that," Peter cringed slightly. "Uh, I had to ditch it. I thought the cork smelled funny. Like it had gone bad."

May scowled unbelievingly at her nephew. MJ sighed quietly as she turned to Peter; as much as she loved him, she didn't like being stuck in the middle, unable to confide in the sweet woman who had raised Peter. "Peter," she suggested while her fiancé stood staring into the sky, "could I talk to you for a moment?"

As she led Peter away from Aunt May, she glared at him, her eyes flashing fire. "What's going on, Peter?" she whispered. "What was in that bottle?"

"I'm guessing chemical explosive and some flash powder, by the smell," Peter whispered back. "But the card, that's what triggered my spider-sense."

"Why?" MJ asked, puzzled. "What did it say?"

"It said, 'Can Spider-Man come out to play?', MJ."

MJ's sudden gasp didn't escape Peter's notice. "What is it?" he asked.

MJ shook her head, fear and shame coloring her cheeks red. "I should have told you sooner, Peter," she admitted. "I just didn't want to worry you—"

"Okay, now I'm worried," Peter warned her. "What happened?"

"A few days ago," MJ started hastily, "just after Sergey called me about that part on 'When Harry Met Sally', there was another call. Some computer-like voice, saying, 'Can Spider-Man come out to play?'. I thought it was just a crank call; I mean, my face was in the papers twice for being rescued by Spider-Man." She began to gasp, and Peter could see tears welling in her eyes. "I didn't think it was serious. It just spooked me at first, though. I'm sorry, I should have told you…"

Peter felt a brief surge of anger at discovering that MJ had kept a secret from him. But one look at the trembling young woman beside him dispelled his ire. MJ didn't scare easily, Peter knew that much. He remembered seeing her at the pier earlier that year, held hostage by Octavius. She didn't cry once, she stood almost defiantly against her captor. But something had scared her deeply. And Peter sensed that what caused her fear was the same thing that was scaring him now. The idea that the Green Goblin had somehow returned.

"Shh, shh," Peter took MJ into his arms, rocking her slightly as her sobbed. "It's okay. Just, next time someone pulls a stunt like that, let me know, okay?"

"Okay," she promised. "Next time, you'll be the first to know."

"Good," Peter nodded, reluctantly breaking the embrace. "Look, MJ, would you do me a solid and take Aunt May home, and stay with her 'til I get back? Please?"

"Sure, Peter," MJ nodded. "But what about you?"

"I have to go see a man about a glider." MJ stared incredulously at Peter, but he smiled gently at her. "Don't worry. I'm going as Peter, not as—" he showed her his hand, middle and ring fingers resting on his palm in a 'web' fingers formation. MJ nodded, smirking.

As the couple returned to May, MJ said, "Aunt May, would you like me to drive you to your apartment?"

"I'd like that very much," May smiled. "But what about you, Peter?"

A faint siren could be heard up the street, faint but growing louder. "I'd better hang around," Peter said. "Once the cops are here, I should tell them what I saw. Wasn't much, but I did get in close enough to see what was happening. I'm sorry about leaving you alone, Aunt May—"

"Please, Peter," May smiled slightly, assuring her nephew. "Mary Jane and I will be fine."

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," Peter promised his aunt as he hugged her. "Love you," he added.

"I love you too, Peter," May breathed. As she turned toward Mary Jane, the red-haired actress offered her arm and escorted her away from the café.

MJ turned back one last time to glance at Peter. "Go get 'em, Tiger," she whispered. Peter nodded grimly, before heading away, toward the sirens.

Fifteen minutes later, after giving a brief statement, he waved his hands in the air, flagging down the first available taxi. After three cabs passed him by, a fourth pulled over. As he entered the cab, the driver extinguished a foul-smelling cigar into the dashboard ashtray and asked, "Where to?"

Peter grimly replied, "The Oscorp building."

* * *

"Liz," Harry greeted his receptionist as he strode toward his office. "Are we still on for dinner tonight? I wanted to go over some figures for the Ad Astra prototype." 

"You know how to show a lady a good time, Mr. Osborn," Liz quipped.

"A thousand pardons," Harry smiled. "I just wanted to crunch a few numbers. Once that's done, you shall have my undivided attention."

"Please," Liz answered. "I'd settle for a majority share of your attention. O'Shannasey's at 7:30 it is?"

"I'll pick you up after I'm done here," Harry answered as he headed for the oaken office door. "Hold my calls for now, please."

"Oh," Liz suddenly chimed. "There's a Peter Parker in your office. He came in while you were with the board of directors. He seemed rather agitated, so I told him to wait."

"Thanks," Harry nodded. "I'll see him right away." As he pushed the office door open, he wondered why Peter was making a surprise visit.

Before he took two steps into the office, he felt a hand grasp his throat and lift him off of the floor. "Can the Green Goblin come out to play?" a harsh voice snarled as Harry tried to loosen his assailant's grip. Harry turned to face his attacker, only to find himself staring into the eyes of Peter Parker. Never before had Harry imagined that Peter's face could be contorted into such a mask of hatred, or that he would ever see murder in the pale-blue depths of his eyes. But that's exactly what he saw that moment.

In a second, he found himself slammed hard against the picture window that dominated the side of his office, Peter's hand clamped hard on his throat, pinning him like a moth. "What was it your dad said? 'See how a hero is rewarded'? Well, let's see how a psychopath who threatens my family is rewarded! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't break your neck right now!"

"The security camera behind you for one thing," Harry rasped. Peter twisted his head around, eyeing the black reflective dome in the ceiling. "The guards should be here any minute now," Harry continued calmly as Peter's grip on his neck slackened enough for Harry to free himself.

True to Harry's word three armed men charged into the office, service pieces aimed directly at Peter. "Don't move, buddy!" the lead guard shouted as his two subordinates grabbed Peter's arms and pinned them behind his back. Peter managed to keep his rage in check; he didn't want to risk hurting the guards by breaking free with his full strength. "Mr. Osborn," he asked, turning to his employer, "are you okay? We saw this man attack you on our monitors…"

"Yes, Axelrod, I'm okay," Harry assured the guards. "You can put your guns down. This is Peter, a friend from high school. We were just roughhousing. Nothing serious."

"Roughhousing, sir?" Axelrod asked dubiously. "It looked pretty nasty on the monitor."

"Like I said, Axelrod," Harry raised his voice, "there's nothing wrong here. Peter is a friend. I appreciate your prompt arrival, but I'm not in danger. You're dismissed for now."

"But sir, I—"

"What part of 'you're dismissed for now' didn't you understand?" Harry intoned sternly. Axelrod stood silently for a moment, before signaling to the other guards. The two guards released their grip on Peter's arms and followed their senior supervisor out of the office. Just at the doorway, Axelrod turned to his employer. "I'm going to keep my eye on this office once I'm in the control room again."

"And I feel safer knowing that," Harry assured the guard. Axelrod nodded and left silently, and Harry gently shut the door behind him. Turning back to Peter, his smile faded, his mouth becoming a grim line across his face. "I just lied through my teeth to keep you from spending the night in jail, Peter," Harry spoke in tones of quiet menace. "So given the circumstances, I feel that you at the very least owe me an explanation."

"I owe you?" Peter gasped as he circled the office, maintaining a six-foot distance from Harry, his arms hanging warily at his side, his entire body a loaded spring on a tenuous catch. "What about that stunt you pulled today, handing me a booby-trapped champagne bottle? Whatever your beef with me or Spider-Man, keep Aunt May and Mary Jane out of it or so help me…"

"Wait, time out!" Harry shouted. "What champagne? What the hell are you talking about? I was at a board meeting today from 10 a.m. to about five minutes before I walked into my office!"

"Oh yeah?" Peter challenged. "Then I suppose you're telling me that you didn't send crank calls to MJ, impersonating the Green Goblin?"

"Why would I do that?" Harry defended himself. "I hate the Goblin as much as you do! Besides," Harry's tone grew more desperate. "I wasn't out of this building since I got here at seven in the morning! I was at the board meeting all day! I have at least twelve credible witnesses; I was hashing out design schematics for the Ad Astra long range shuttles! And Liz was with me all the way from the boardroom to the office!"

"And you weren't joyriding on one of your daddy's gliders either, I can assume?" Peter accused menacingly. Harry gasped as Peter nodded once. "Oh yeah, I heard that jet engine. I saw the glider flying off in the distance. And you're the only one who has access to your dad's weapons caches."

"I'm telling you," Harry insisted, "that I wasn't—" His voice trailed into silence as a terrible thought came to mind. "No—" he half-whispered, half-prayed. "It can't be…" Harry rushed to his desk, pressed the control, alt and delete keys on his keyboard and started scanning through his computer systems, his eyes affixed to the monitor. Peter stood by in silence, intently watching as his high-school friend searched his computer systems. "Oh man," he whispered after about five minutes. "This is bad."

"What, what's bad?" Peter asked worriedly.

"When I first found my dad's private cache of Goblin weapons," Harry spoke in rushed tones, "I used his secret files to discover the rest of his caches. I catalogued and inventoried everything he had created, down to the last pumpkin bomb, so once I had the time to destroy his entire stockpile, I'd make sure I had indeed destroyed everything. I found six caches, scattered throughout the city. And one of them," he finished, turning the monitor around on its base to show Peter, "was emptied. I hadn't even monitored the caches for the last three months or so, since I was occupied with my deep space projects. But someone located the Manhattan cache, directly under the Flatiron Building in Times Square. Looted it clean."

Peter gasped at the implications. If what Harry was saying was true, and the image he witnessed on the screen, of an emptied warehouse as observed by the security camera gave proof to Harry's statement, then someone had access to the Goblin's arsenal.

To the Goblin's knowledge.

To the Goblin's secrets.

Before he could follow this thread to its terrible conclusion, a familiar stirring of the hairs on the back of his neck began to intensify, like the gradually increasing ringing of an alarm bell. "HARRY!" Peter cried as he lunged over the desk and tackled the Oscorp CEO, rolling him to the ground. Just as Harry opened his mouth to ask why Peter had landed on him, a deafening explosion rocked the office, as shards of glass rained over the two of them. "Harry!" Peter whispered urgently. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Harry groaned as Peter lifted his weight away from him. _So that's Spider-Sense,_ he found himself thinking absently, as he scrambled to his feet. "But what happened?"

"I happened, Harold Osborn," an eerie, computer-altered voice rasped against his ears. Harry and Peter spun around, facing the huge jagged hole in the window, and the dark figure perched outside.

The glider was Norman's; neither Peter nor Harry could deny it. Gunmetal gray, razor-edged corrugated steel wings mounted on either side of the cylindrical jet engine, with a horned grate on the nosecone that resembled a bat's head. The costume was different, however. He wore orange leggings and arm coverings made from what Harry recognized as a flexible Kevlar-like substance. The latex mask was a sickly yellow, with eyes and teeth visible behind its troll-like features. A tattered yellow-orange hood covered his head, with matching short cape draped over his shoulders. The chest, gloves and boots were a dark green-gray, and appeared to be made of the same Kevlar fabric. Peter gasped as he saw the object in the opponent's hand; it smoked faintly, sparks flying out of its crude eye-holes. A pumpkin-grenade.

"So nice to see you two here, Osborn, Parker," the assailant regarded the two men with a faintly clinical air. "I have things I would say to the two of you! Oh, and any guards watching in the surveillance room, I'd advise you not to come near the office. Or my next grenade will take down your boss!" The goblin-masked figure shifted his glider slightly, moving close enough to grasp Harry by the throat. "Tell them, Osborn," he ordered. "Tell them to keep their distance." Peter tensed up, fighting the innate terrors that the Goblin had always given him. He silently cursed the security cameras that recorded this invasion; without them, he thought he'd have a better chance of attacking this new Goblin without betraying his identity. He glanced at Harry, catching his eye, and nodded once. _Play his game,_ he thought silently. _For now._

"You heard him," Harry barked, his eyes focusing on the security camera. "Keep your distance!"

"A wise decision," his assailant snarled as he relaxed his grasp on Harry's neck. "Now that we can converse uninterrupted, I will explain my actions."

"No need to explain, Gobby," Peter muttered, his rage barely contained. "You're trying to be the next Green Goblin, that's all!"

"Green?" the intruder chuckled darkly. "My name, Parker, is _Hob_goblin. And before I'm done, this city will learn to respect it!" Returning his attention to Harry, Hobgoblin continued; "I am not Norman Osborn. I have ambitions beyond merely terrorizing innocents, or seeking revenge against shareholders. Yes, I know the whole sordid story. But I assure you, I have no intentions toward revenge. I have bigger fish to fry."

"Remind me to be impressed," Harry answered. "What do you want from us?"

"I want something from each of you," Hobgoblin stated, the latex mask almost smiling cruelly over his face. "First, Parker. You seem to have a professional relationship with the city's current media flavor of the month, Spider-Man. I want you to give him a message; tell him I wish to confront him. I assume you got my message earlier, am I right?"

"You sent the bottle?" Peter shouted. "You son of a BITCH!" Rage overtaking reason, Peter charged at Hobgoblin, who shrugged his shoulders, pointing a finger at Peter. A brilliant burst of sparks cascaded from his gauntlet toward Peter, knocking Peter backward. "Temper, temper, Parker," Hobgoblin cackled. "Norman hadn't even field-tested these power gauntlets. They do pack a wallop. The equivalent of ten-thousand volts in one blast."

"Stop it!" Harry screamed. "You've proven your point, Goblin! Just state your business!"

"Tell Spider-Man, Parker," Hobgoblin snarled. "Tell him that I will take him down. Or I will take down the people you love." The sprawled figure of Peter Parker only glared at Hobgoblin, anger smoldering in his eyes.

"As for you, Osborn," he addressed Harry with a cold contempt, "I have managed to appropriate one of your father's bunkers, and plundered his Goblin technology. And I must say, I can't blame him for keeping this glider to himself. It's a most exhilarating experience, the power I control now. But I know that he has other stashes. And I'm certain that you know where they are."

"And you want me to hand them over?" Harry hazarded a guess.

"Indeed! I'll give you one week to gather all the pertinent information and present it to me. You can keep your company, I have no interest in your corporate holdings. All I want is the legacy of the Goblin. And you will give it to me."

Harry stood before the grinning creature that hovered before him, his legs shaking but still holding strong. He smiled mirthlessly in front of the Goblin, before answering; "Do the words, 'Get bent' mean anything to you?"

"You have one week, Osborn," Hobgoblin snarled. "Or else I will level your corporate headquarters, at nine a.m., just as the day shift arrives. Thousands of your employees will die, either from the initial explosion, or from falling debris. The media will assume terrorists, but you will know better. Either you give me all of the Goblin's weapons, or witness as everything you built up from your father's ashes will fall, and I will pick the secret of his other caches from the bones of your company. One week!"

Peter managed to make it to his feet, the residual effects of that energy blast wearing off quickly. Before he could consider another attack on this new enemy, Hobgoblin raised his pumpkin grenade and smashed it onto the floor in front of him. Instantly a cloud of acrid smoke billowed from the shattered grenade, filling the room completely. Peter's eyes stung and he couldn't shout to Harry from needing to cough constantly. Within ten seconds, the smokescreen was dispersed by the offices' air-conditioning vents, by which time Hobgoblin had disappeared. Only the distant roar of his glider, now over two miles away, remained. That and the shards of glass that littered Harry's office and the gaping hole in his window.

Almost immediately after the smoke cleared, Axelrod and his two junior officers entered the office, observing the debris from Hobgoblin's attack. "Mr. Osborn?" Axelrod asked. "We have the entire incident recorded. Who—what was that?"

"That, Axelrod," Harry shook his head sadly, "is a new problem. One that I trust you to help me with. I want that window replaced with bulletproof glass immediately. And consider the security budget for both the main offices and Ad Astra doubled. Hire extra men if you have to. I'm not letting some costumed maniac destroy my life's work."

"I'm sorry we couldn't do more, sir," Axelrod replied grimly.

"Not your fault, friend," Harry assured him. "But we definitely need to beef up security at Oscorp. We'll go over the details and make a plan tomorrow. Dismissed."

"Yes sir," Axelrod shot to attention and beckoned his lieutenants to follow him out of the office. For now, Harry reasoned, Oscorp was safe. For now…

"Peter," Harry asked, approaching his friend, who stood dumbly, staring out of the glass maw and toward the city skyline. "You okay?"

"He doesn't know," Peter whispered. "Whatever your dad had hidden away, Hobgoblin didn't find everything yet. He doesn't know that I'm Spider-Man. But he knows that there is a connection between us. And he knows about May and MJ." He turned away from the window and faced Harry. "I have to take him down. And quickly."

"Amen to that," Harry answered. "He said he would destroy Oscorp, and with the weaponry from Dad's Flatiron cache he could do it. No way in Hell I'm handing that monster any more weapons."

"Harry," Peter said suddenly, "I owe you an apology. I first saw that Hobgoblin dude on his glider after the bottle exploded, I jumped to the wrong conclusion."

"Don't do this," Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Peter, I know about Spider-Man, I know about Dad, and I know where he kept his toys. You see a guy on a Goblin glider, he makes threats against your family, what are you supposed to think? It's Occam's Razor."

Peter's eyes widened with surprised recognition at Harry's observation. "Dad used to quote that principle," Harry continued. "The idea that the simplest solution is the most likely one."

"Something like that, Harry," Peter corrected. "Occam's Razor originally was a principle of logic that states that you shouldn't make more assumptions than the minimum necessary to explain something. Dr. Connors likes to quote that one." Surveying the damage of Hobgoblin's attack, he added, "I guess I cut myself shaving with Occam's Razor this time."

"Don't sweat it, Peter," Harry insisted. "Right now, we need to concentrate on the Hobgoblin."

Peter glanced sidelong at Harry. "'We', Kimosabe?"

Harry chuckled darkly. "He's threatening my company, my employees," Harry reminded Peter. "You think I'm going to stand by and do nothing? I don't think so. Anything I can do to help, let me know!"

"Thanks, Harry," Peter took Harry's hand in his own, shaking it firmly. "I just hope I don't have to take you up on it too soon. This is going to be a different situation than taking on your dad."

"Why? Hobs didn't strike me as being as insane as Dad at the end," Harry commented.

Peter nodded. "That's exactly the point. Hobgoblin may be evil, but he's not psychotic. I saw his eyes when he attacked me. They were cold, calculating. Not wild and insane. He has his faculties. Against the Green Goblin, I had to get tougher." Taking one last look out the shattered window, Peter concluded, "Against Hobgoblin, I'm going to have to get smarter."

Next: Chapter (Sinister) Six


End file.
